


Run So Far (That I Am Standing Still)

by DickBaggins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Coercion, Dirty Talk, Doctor/Patient, Exhibitionism, Face-Fucking, First Time Bottoming, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Incest Kink, Incest Play, M/M, Multi, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex, Pining, Recreational Drug Use, Sexual Coercion, Sexual Roleplay, Sibling Incest, Suicidal Thoughts, Therapy, Threesome - M/M/M, Unrequited Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unsafe Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-17 08:56:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 99,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5862727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DickBaggins/pseuds/DickBaggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Winchester's been in love with his big brother Dean for as long as he can remember, and he's never told anyone but Dr. Cas Novak. From their first session together, Cas finds himself fully entrenched in Sam's sad story with a fervor that's not entirely professional. Under his overly intimate and fairly unorthodox methods, even Dean notices the change in his usually gloomy brother and decides maybe therapy's not so bad.</p><p>Sam definitely shouldn't refer his brother to Cas. Cas definitely shouldn't take him on but his curiosity wins out, and he soon finds himself trying to wave the white flag in the middle of a very fucked up battleground.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Starts in November 2013, so Sam's 30, Dean's 34. Cas is 36.

First visits were strange; Cas Novak had some files and a name, a vague idea of speech patterns and voice from a brief phone consult, but this didn't form a _person_ yet. Not until they were sitting in front of him, and sometimes not until months later, did Cas see a person, a complete soul.

Sam Winchester was entirely different.

He filled up Cas's doorway one fall afternoon, hair blowing wild, hands busy trying to tame it down. He offered a handshake at the same time and Cas took it. Warm palms slid together, Sam's hand so big, slightly soft. Cas covered his sharp inhale with a smile and stepped aside as soon as he could. So fast it might even be rude.

Then there was, “It's nice to finally meet you, Dr. Novak,” while he stepped in, rearranging his hair again. Nervous gestures. His voice came out a bit higher than on the phone. That wasn't unusual. Small talk. “This is a nice neighbourhood.”

“It is,” Cas agreed, shut the door. No coat to take or he would have, and sort of wished there was so he could steal another close look, another weird electric touch. _Not a good sign._ “We're in here,” he gestured Sam into the side room past the sliding door, always bright in the mid-afternoon but the light shone different in November. Orange, so Cas decorated with earth tones and burgundy, found pillows and throws in the shades of leaves, as much for him as his clients. The seasonal chase was important.

He let Sam pick where he was sitting, while he stood and observed. Sam tried the forest green couch before moving to the burnt orange chair, high and deep. He took the throw pillows off first. Tugged at his shirt when it rode up a bit. Sat back and finally crossed one leg over the other, a forced kind of comfortable.

Cas reflexively poured water, took up his notebook, wondered if Sam needed more small talk while he sat on the couch Sam had spurned, close but not. Notebook on the arm of the chair, a little scrawl at the top to check the black pen. And then Cas looked back at Sam and he smiled. He didn't mean to and Sam smiled back and that made it more awkward somehow.

“Okay,” Cas laughed low, nervous, _wow this was unprofessional already_. He forced the smile off his face, forced a frown and scribbled a bit more in the margin. “We can start with why you're here, if there's any particular reason. If not - “

“I'm in love with my brother,” Sam interrupted.

Cas stopped drawing. Blinked, not at Sam but at the page. He didn't actually look up for a while but Sam stared expectantly when he did, chasing Cas's gaze the whole time.

Cas had heard that before from a few clients and it really wasn't _that_  unknown. Usually they were in tears or angry or disgusted. Usually it didn't come out for months. Years. Usually it was half-formed and half-repressed. A shock, a nervous laugh, an eyeroll. Hands twisting around tissues and ripping up papers and buttoning and unbuttoning.

None of that rolled off of Sam. He'd stated a fact and his palms laid open on the tops of his thighs.

“Is this the first time you've said that out loud?” Cas didn't know what else to ask.

Sam shrugged. “To another person? Yes. I've probably said it to myself a few times.”

And the questions welled up in Cas after that, so many at once and that almost never happened. He never sat across from someone and felt so overwhelmed. Fifty different trains of thought collided together and he couldn't scrabble through the ruin fast enough.

“So you've never told him? What's his name?”

“Dean. And no. Big no.”

_Dean_ , Cas scrawled on the top line, fast block letters angling towards Sam. He looked back up. Still too much. Had to stay in one thought, one avenue for a while. _How do you know it's love?_ And _how long_? And _what's your definition of love anyway_? And _unless your brother is blind..._

“Can you tell me about Dean?”

Sam puffed out a breath, tried to slouch further but eventually hunched over, forearms on his thighs, eyes considering something out the window, something in the woods behind Cas's house, or maybe just the scenery. He didn't wait long to answer.

“He's older, so, he took care of me a lot. Our mom died? I was literally just a baby, and Dean was four. So sometimes I think that's got a lot to do with it. Like, that I'm just mixed up in some weird way and maybe talking to someone about it will help. Does that make sense?”

“It does,” Cas answered. He'd shifted closer towards Sam, scraping the edge of his own seat and sliding back, “But I asked to hear about Dean. What does he look like?” Loaded question, total bait, kind of shameless but he laid the tip of his pen against the paper and carefully considered Sam's face.

Sam moved back too, his face softening. Sighing again, head turned towards Cas but looking past him, behind him again; private woods stretched out the window, surrounded the yard. Birdfeeders. Some people deflected silently while looking at them. Sam talked through it.

“He's beautiful. He used to be _pretty_ , I mean actually pretty, like back when I was a kid. But now, it's just...unfair. So, uh,” Sam cleared his throat, eyes ducking to Cas and away again, “I mean, I guess you wanted facts though. Dark blond, green eyes, shorter than me. Freckles sometimes. Really...wide. Like, he works on cars and builds stuff, so he's pretty uh, solid, I guess. I mean, we don't really look like brothers all that much actually.”

Even 'just the facts' dripped and Cas watched Sam's face slack and harden in turns. But there wasn't revulsion. There were little details everywhere.

“How often do you see him?”

“At least once a week. We kinda have this standing thing – not a date, just a thing. Bars. Unless we're busy. But yeah, usually once a week. It's nice, he picks the place. We buy each other rounds, shoot pool. Darts sometimes, but I'm better than him so he doesn't like it.”

“Do you see each other outside of bars?”

“Outside of bars?” Sam repeated, frowning thoughtfully. “I guess not. Holidays maybe, depending on what's going on. Does that matter?”

“Everything matters.”

“Right.”

“What's it like, when you're together? How do you feel?”

“Uh, drunk, usually?” Sam chuckled, immediately. Shook his head. “No, uh...it feels good, I guess. We kind of grew up travelling around so it's sort of comfortable.” He trailed off.

Cas picked up, writing down the words as he said them. “'Grew up travelling around', what does that mean?”

“Oh, uh, my dad. With my dad, we just...crossed the country. It started after my mom died, I guess. He couldn't settle, so he worked jobs that kept him on the road. I liked it for a long time.”

“Did your brother?”

“I don't know.” Sam paused, sighed out of his nose, clasped his hands together and leaned forward again. “I don't think so. But he tried to make it fun for me, so it always seemed like he did, until I kinda figured him out. I guess. Sometimes we'd stay with relatives or housesit or whatever, sometimes for a long time, like months, and he'd get this routine going like...like some housewife, right? He was always happy doing that stuff.”

There was so much, there was too much. There was no sense writing it all down.

“So what's it like now? Do either of you have families? Where's your father?”

“Died. Five years ago? But he kind of got through his...stuff, eventually. Like, he settled down and ran a car lot for a couple years. I think he kinda just wanted to go, so...”

“'Wanted to go?'”

“He, uh, shot himself. So. His choice, y'know?” There was a dry tickle in Sam's voice when he said it, raspy dead leaf sound. Cas waited with another question on his tongue when Sam plowed on. “So after that, I actually thought about telling Dean. About how I feel.”

“Oh – so you knew – even then?”

Sam forced out a breath, an approximation of amusement. “I've always known, Dr. Novak. I think I was born knowing it.”

“Do you remember when you first became aware of those feelings?”

“Well, there's this story.” Sam sunk back into the chair again, his knee hitting Cas's. Neither moved. “Dean used to like to tell it when people would say stuff like 'you sure do take care of each other' or 'I wish my boys got on so well', you know, crap like that. So, apparently when I was three, I told Dean I was going to marry him. Like I even knew what that was, right? I'd probably just seen some TV show or some crappy movie. Anyway, he told me no, we can't do that, we're brothers and that's even better than being married. Apparently. This is _all_ his story so who the hell knows. I kept insisting we _had_ to get married. He says I stole these two little rings from somewhere? See, I'm calling bullshit because okay, a kid knows about marriage, that's normal, but what's a three year old know about rings? Right?” Sam shook his head, hair flying out. So much energy now, with the story, cheeks dark pink, words racing. “Dean says he woke up one morning to me trying to jam a ring on his finger and crying because I couldn't make it fit. So he put them on necklaces for us. And told me we were married. And I don't remember any of it, but Dean just loved to tell that story. Makes me look like an idiot.”

“You were three - “

“Didn't even happen, doesn't matter. Except...I dunno, one day, he gave me this.” Sam dug into his shirt with long fingers, pulling out a chain, letting the bronze ring dangle fiery in the afternoon light. “But he doesn't really tell the story anymore.”

“Okay,” Cas said. Notes, furious little notes that he might not decipher later but even the writing of them helped him memorize everything. Not just what Sam said but how. So important, the how, so important what his eyes looked like when he said this or that. Cas wished he could tell what colour they were; in the light, in this specific autumn light, they looked slightly gold-brown. But green. Watery lagoon green. Not important, he told himself, drew himself away. The colour of Sam's eyes can't be important. “Can we talk about you a bit?”

“I guess we have to.”

_He doesn't like it_ , Cas knew right away. Much more interesting to talk about his brother and that very big very loaded cannon but to fully understand any of it, there's Sam to explore too. He talked about himself in stilted, quiet tones, glossing over lots of things. Community college, law degree. Public defender work. Slight panicky breakdown and a change of careers. Sam switched to private investigator with no trouble. Set his own hours. Small office. Chasing some kind of film noir fantasy. His words.

Dimples when he smiled, thick lashes that fanned down when he looked away. Razor straight teeth and nervous tongue poking at his thin pink lips. Such a colour. Not overly demonstrative with his hands but when they moved, Cas watched. Had he ever seen hands so big? The soft rustle of his shirt strained against his shoulders when he shifted. The gentle pop of a top button opening and revealing smooth tanned skin, the faintest dusting of hair. Easy movement buttoning it back up again. Not embarrassed.

Cas was.

Everyone gets an hour. Cas wished he could make an exception but he needed the full refractory period after. Another appointment scheduled later and this, _Sam_ , too distracting. The leaving gets awkward sometimes. Cas noticed the time and let Sam finish up his thought before tapping his pen, clicking it retracted.

“I'm afraid our time's up, Sam.”

“Oh god, already?” is what everyone said, and Sam too.

“I'd like to schedule next week?” Cas said, standing up. Briefly, briefly taller than Sam until he stood up and knocked Cas's breath out anew. “Is this time good for you?”

“Yeah, if it works for you.”

Meandering little stroll to the front door. Sam first, and Cas wanted to put his hand on his back, to feel the warmth under his palm. And the crazy muscles he assumed lurked under there too.

“So...I didn't freak you out too much?” Sam asked gingerly at the door. More hair rearranging with his other hand on the doorknob.

“Of course not,” Cas assured him. He allowed a slight brush of his fingers against Sam's forearm, just under the roll of his sleeve. So warm even with such a quick touch. “I'm looking forward to talking with you again, actually.”

Sam smiled and lit up the entire entrance. It dazzled, it was incredible, it made Cas's heart pound in his chest. The rest was awkward goodbyes. Cas watched him leave from the front window. And watched the street for a long time after that.

Cas Novak knew he was in trouble.

 

* * *

 

Second appointments were strange too. Not always, but sometimes. In the intervening week, Cas spent too much time thinking about Sam. An unprofessional amount. The first day, he consumed his lackluster notes; he'd work on that next time. He wanted to ask a thousand more questions. Some weren't necessary. Some were to satisfy his own curiosity. Some were important things he'd forgot to ask the first time.

Past and current relationships were important, and Cas hadn't touched on it, besides the obvious with his brother. But even that he hadn't delved into too far. He tried not to beat himself up. Wrote down a whole new list of questions. Rewrote it, crossed some out. Frowned disappointed in himself more times than he could count. Day one.

Day two, Cas researched. Like, just casually researched. Books though, because typing in a web search, even academically, for 'fraternal incest' was not a good move. Outdated books. Sibling genetic attraction, normal, a phase, often born out of trauma or strange living situations. Check and check. More lists of questions.

Fuck it, it's a Sunday and it's a porn jag. Day three. Not a lot of amateur incest, lots of fake stuff. Lots of father-daughter mother-son. Sister-brother. Mostly Russian. Some unconvincing mother-daughters. Twin sisters. French twin brothers, but French so does it even count? And they're twinks, skinny and blonde, and _twins_ anyway, so that has to be different. It feels different. Writers like that sort of thing, apparently. Not quite a tear as with the visual but there's a lot to go around, a lot of stuff from TV shows, movies, a lot of 99 cent e-books. Some of them aren't bad. Is Sam into that stuff? Is that even a question he can ask?

There's some _movies_ on Monday, day four, actual award winning cinema. He's never looked so deep into a thing, never needed to. Never wanted to. _Mourning Becomes Electra_ and a tame version of _Tender is the Night_. He skimmed the book again and wished he hadn't. No help. Would anything help though? It's a specific situation with specific people. Specific reactions. The whole doctor/patient thing skirted too close.

Day five, Cas watched more porn. Not incest porn. Just this guy who kinda looked like Sam? It's not good, he shouldn't do it. Shouldn't do it the first time and definitely shouldn't do it again that night. Shouldn't download that guy's back catalog. Maybe Sam growled like that and Jesus, what if? Can't ask about that.

Six is busy. Thank god.

Seven, unprepared. Sam was his only appointment and he still wasn't prepared, watching the coffee maker drip-drip the kitchen when the doorbell went off. Not a big deal. But he liked being at the door waiting, on his toes and polite. He answered with an apology and Sam looked beautiful again. Bigger than he remembered. Shy and self-assured all at the same time with a big step forward into the house, his hand stuck out, brushing against Cas's again. Cas let it go on longer, clutched harder. Hands so goddamned monstrously huge and Cas filed that away for later, good or ill.

“Sorry, I was in the kitchen,” Cas explained again, letting his hand drop.

“Coffee?” Sam asked, chirped even. “I can smell it, it really smells great, uh - “

“I'll get you some, Sam.”

“Black is fine.”

“Make yourself at home.”

_Take your fucking pants off and I'll be right there_.

_Nope, no, bad awful, stop. Inappropriate, not for work, not for ever._

Sam smiled and moved into the big glass addition, the work room that Cas didn't want to sully with dirty thoughts.

_Get it the fuck together, get the coffee and get your goddamned game face on, stop it with the porn. Plenty to ask that isn't about his dick._

Cas swept back in with sweat wiped on his sleeve and two coffees in cream coloured mugs. Sam picked the chair again, jacket off and draped on the back, pillows shuffled around again. Smiling when Cas came in but still eyes down shy. He took a long smell of the coffee with the mug cradled against one huge hand and it almost disappeared wrapped up like that.

Cas took the couch again, the further seat this time, where he'd already balanced his notebook lest he be even tempted to sit closer. Kind of too late though. They both drank. Cas considered his notes. Shouldn't have left them just sitting there; he glanced from them up to Sam and watched Sam glance away, his face splitting wide in a smile again.

That's right, he had those dimples. Jesus Christ.

“Sorry, I looked. I know that's probably some huge breech of trust or something. But - “

“It's fine,” Cas smiled back. It wasn't fine and if it were anyone else? Bye forever. But the room felt too perfect with Sam there in the orangey light, all tanned skin and faint pink on his face, shoving his hair back behind his ears. Cas stared. “I mean, you'll find out in about five seconds when I start asking you stuff. Is there anything you want to discuss, first of all?”

“This coffee is really good? And I think a squirrel just made away with one of your last sunflowers.”

Cas raised his eyebrows and watched Sam laugh again, looking down at his coffee. Hiding something, deflecting things but gorgeous anyway.

“Just...something weird happened this week. With Dean?”

“Oh, okay, weird how?” Cas frowned down at his notebook and made a column for this, for Dean-things.

“I dunno. We did our normal thing, you know? Bar, pool, wings, beer. But..” Frowning so deep Sam's brow creased all up, considering the depths of his coffee very seriously. Fingers clutching and relaxing. Cas wondered if he'd break the mug. “I swear I saw him check out a guy. And he's not gay.”

“Is that weird?”

Sam huffed. “It is for Dean.” Sat back, crossed one leg square over the other, ankle on knee, scuffed up boots. “He's like, mister heterosexual. Like, womanizer of the year every year since he was fifteen.”

“So...Dean checking out a guy bothered you.” Bothered, jealousy, unsettled, false hope, there was lots there to dig into.

“Yeah, I guess. Kinda made me feel like, yeah you'll look at other guys, but why not me? But of course he wouldn't look at me like _that_.”

“Sam, you're very self-aware.”

“Yeah, I saw that part of your notes.”

“Right. It's just that most people _aren't_. It's not a bad thing, it just makes me curious about why you're here. Is it for direction or are you looking for the roots of this issue? Or something else?”

Sam sighed, lips stretched in a thin line, eyes out the windows. People conducted entire sessions looking out the window sometimes. Easier to talk to the birds or the hydrangeas. “It's nice just to talk about it. So far. But I think it's both of those? Or maybe just the first one. Because I mean, the origins, the whole _why_ issue is pretty easy to figure out.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah. I'm sure you have, you're smart. We lived in messed up circumstances. Kids are supposed to have like, stability. You don't need a mom and a dad but a _place_ is important. School and friends and achievements. I just had the backseat of a 67 Chevy and my big brother. And he's gorgeous and he gave me everything, so I fell in love with him.” Sam shrugged, like it was that simple. Except it was that simple, that easy. So easy.

Cas wanted to see Dean, needed a picture to complete the whole idea, to round it out. That would be bad. Worse than the porn. His fingers sweated around the pen. “You've never acted on it?”

“Not really.”

Not really meant a lot of things. Every time. Cas stayed quiet.

“I mean, we used to jerk off together.”

Bombs landed.

Cas scrawled it down, felt dirty doing it. “How did _that_ work?” He looked at Sam looking out the window again.

“Well...the first time?”

“Sure.”

“I was pretty young. You might not want to hear it.”

“I do.”

Jesus, did he ever.

“Okay...” Sam shifted, coffee still in one hand, the other rolling around his thigh with his palm, over and over, down and back and Cas stared at it, at the tight jeans, long legs.

_Oh Dean, what are you thinking?_

“Okay, well...close quarters, right? We usually shared rooms at least wherever we were, but we had to share beds sometimes. Dean'll say it's 'cause I can't sleep without him but that's bullshit. It was just cheaper. So, uh...I'd hear him doing it. Didn't know what it was. Then, guess he musta been fifteen? Sixteen? So I asked, I sat right up in bed one night and said 'De, what're you doing?' and he played it like I was the creep for not knowing. But, uh, he explained. Said...I could watch, one time. So I knew how to do it.”

Sam trailed off.

Cas scribbled, frowned, scribbled. “How old were you?”

“Oh, like, 12. Or younger. Around there, anyway. Close enough.”

“You intimated it happened more than once.”

“Yeah.” Sam swallowed, long throat bobbing, mouth crackly dry. More coffee, then he set it aside on the coaster on the coffee table. “But like, lots of brothers do that.”

That was not in Cas's realm of normal. Five brothers and they didn't even talk about sex let alone masturbate in front of each other. Didn't make it abnormal. There were circumstances to consider. And this wasn't the track Cas meant to ride on but goddamn, he'd see it through.

“Sure, I suppose, but there's a lot of room for variation here.”

“So you want me to tell you how we did it?” Sam's voice went low, the deep slightly terrifying rumble sending Cas's hair on end, his stomach dropping. Sam looked at him too, eyes catching the light like rye in a glass. Breathtaking, scary, hot as hell.

_Not good, Cas, not good. Keep it together._

Cas swallowed, shrugged one shoulder. “If you'd like. It might help explain your relationship.”

_It might give me something to beat off to tonight, besides that porn star who looks like you from the back._

“Separate beds. We didn't do it in the same bed. Okay, sometimes we did. Maybe half the time. Or opposite ends of the couch. Sometimes porn on the TV. Dean would have his eyes closed, usually, so I'd be watching him. He knew but he let me stare anyway.” Sam's knuckles dragged up and down his thighs, both sides, his eyes fixed on the floor, on the soft orange shag throw rug. “I'd wait until he was done before I finished. I guess it's kind of weird.”

“Weird is relative,” Cas blurted out, not meaning to. Staring at Sam so fucking hard he felt like a creep. He wanted to hear more, everything, like _how long did it take_ and _what kind of porn did Dean watch_ and _did you make noise, either of you_? _Or was it strictly silence_? And, “When was the last time you did it?”

“Last week,” Sam said and it hung like a ton of bricks collapsing, a slow motion dashcam of a car wreck until Sam's face split in a grin and he held up a hand. “Sorry, that was a joke. I swear. You looked _way_ too concerned. That was a really, really bad joke.”

There was no air in the room, not anywhere. Cas forced a smile and looked down and _fuck_. He was into this so fucking hard. He should really excuse himself. Recommend a colleague. Send Sam out the door into someone else's more capable hands and keep to his porn and his easy clients. Easy comparatively. Comparatively normal. Normalish. Not giving him fucking middle of the afternoon work boners at least.

He didn't say anything. He pretended to scratch something down on the paper but drew lines that weren't letters, groups that weren't words, some new mad cuneiform. Great.

“I guess I was 18, the last time,” Sam, thankfully, said.

Cas nodded. “Did you ever talk about?”

“Nope,” Sam shrugged, with his shoulders and his face. He relaxed back against the chair again, still rolling one palm on his thigh with an imperceptible little noise, little skin on fabric  _zipzips_.

“Did you want to?”

“Nah. What's to say? 'Hey, you know how you bite your lip when you jizz all over your stomach? I love that'. Like seriously, what can you say?”

“Right.”

Break for more coffee. Sam tolerated hot liquid better, drank more. Cas wanted more but he felt too jacked up, reckless with his thoughts. Brothers locked in a hotel room, shy eye contact and fast hands and how had it not once turned into touching? Sloppy kissing, messy head? Just edging around it for five years? And joking about it? And -

“Uh, sometimes he'd fuck girls in front of me too. Or like, leave the door open.”

Oh, they were going again and Cas was lost in his coffee and his lechery. Under the _Dean_ column he scrawled fast _exhibitionist_ and drew a squiggly box around it, like a cloud, while Sam went on.

“I didn't start looking for a long time. I mean, at first I didn't really _care_. It was more of a hindrance. Like, I just wanted to do my homework or watch Power Rangers and he was plowing some girl on the couch. They always made so much noise, I can't believe we didn't get kicked outta everywhere. He was...I mean, even the shy ones, he'd get...Jesus.” Sam shook his head.

Cas added _sex addict_ and a big question mark under _Dean_. And then wondered about Sam too. Preoccupied with it. There had to be more stuff there than teenage hard ons. There was, though, there was the ring Cas could see around Sam's neck, the slight bump of it against his shirt. That had to mean something more.

Sam looked quiet, drawn.

“We can talk about something else, if you want.”

“Yeah, I think I'm done with the angry little preteen boners for now.”

“Are there other relationships in your life?”

“Like...boyfriends?”

“If that's what you'd identify with having.”

“Yeah. I mean, no, no boyfriends or standing hookups or anything. But yeah, I'm gay. Should I have led with that? I thought the 'in love with my brother' thing was probably clear enough.”

“I didn't want to assume.”

“No, good, that's good. You're good. I haven't really had a boyfriend since college. Never works out very well.”

Quiet, birds outside squawked. Squirrel dug something up along the door, furious little dry-earth noises. But quiet inside.

“Why is that?”

“They're not Dean?”

“Right. Is that why you stopped trying?”

“I think so. It wasn't a conscious choice. I still pick up when I want to. Just, they all kindavlook like my brother.”

“Is _that_ a conscious choice?”

“You like what you like, right? People have types?”

“How is it with them? Your lookalikes?”

“Alright. Sometimes it's really bad. Because I have expectations, I guess, and they're not anything like that.”

“You could tell them what to do. Some people roleplay.”

Sam scrunched his face up, forehead wrinkling, nose wrinkling. _Fucking adorable, fuck._

Cas laughed. “Okay, so that's a no.”

“I kinda feel like that might make it worse?”

“People use it to get over traumatic experiences all the time. Roleplay, I mean. Or even to experience things they couldn't otherwise. In a safe environment with a conscientious partner, it can be very useful.”

“Sounds like you've done it.”

Well. Easy to beg off and tell Sam to mind his own business and client confidentiality and you worry about your own problems, mister, and don't question my methods until we've used 'em and then this tiny little nugget of _oh we could do it we could try it I could try it with you and we could – bad, so bad. Call yourself a doctor._

“It's one of many tools in my arsenal,” Cas answered, tried to make it smooth.

“Huh.”

“I don't usually discuss that kind of methodology until later, until we've zeroed in on something that needs special attention.”

“Really? No roleplay for my creeper incest crush?”

“Sam,” Cas barked out, half mortified and half amused. Sam had no right to be so glib about something so serious, he should be in fucking tears rolling on the floor hugging himself so why was he dangerous and gorgeous and hilarious instead?

“Sorry, I'm really messing you up here, huh?”

“Yes, god,” Cas managed. It came out with laughter though, so that was good, that was okay. Probably better that they could laugh. For now.

“If you get me another coffee, I'll play nice?” Sam held out the mug, waggling it and his eyebrows, smiling with his mouth shut. As if anyone could say no to any of that.

Cas obliged. Cas spent half an hour too long with Sam, in the end. Boyfriends in college, three. A million one night stands since. Why couldn't Cas have found him that way? Well, Cas didn't really go out to bars, for one. And Sam did. Have to ask more about that next time. Have to maybe try to reign in the flirting. Not that he'd really done it on purpose.

So, a totally normal, totally weird second session.

 

* * *

 

Cas stuck on the roleplay thing. He tried to get away from it. He did more research that didn't include porn, even though this whole thing sounded like porn. _Sexy teen brothers jerk off together._ That was literally the title line of fifty porn videos he'd watched. _Sexy teen brother watches. While he gets his heart broken._ It was probably easier to talk about the sex.

Normally, Cas hated the phone. But he sat and stared at it because it was the best option. His flaccid old desk phone. And his notes, Jesus thank fuck for his notes so he actually managed to spit out a few words when he called Sam. If texting were more professional, he'd opt for that. Or an email. Or fucking smoke signals because this was going to be embarrassing.

He stalled five more minutes before he dialed.

Three rings before Sam picked up.

“Hey doc,” he said, curiosity piqued, evident. Quiet behind him, which was good, they could talk.

“Hello, Sam. Is this a good time?”

“For you, sure.”

Fuck.

“This is business,” Cas said, and groaned inwardly a second later. Eyes shutting, hands clenching, god he was stupid, teenage stupid around Sam.

“Okay...” Sam drawled and trailed off, amused.

“I know our next session is for Thursday but I have an opening on Tuesday. And...a proposal.” Was that the word? It'd have to be, it was out of his mouth already and not what he'd written down but he figured it was a proposal of sorts. Of creepy sorts because he was being such a creep about this and why? This was a _real thing._

“Don't keep me in suspense.”

“It's...akin to when we were discussing roleplay as therapy?”

“Oh, god, listen, I know I was kind of rude about that. I was just taken aback but, I mean, you know what you're doing and if that's something you'd think would help, I guess I can try it. Is that what this is about?”

“Yes,” Cas answered after a pause; Sam was too fucking smart, Sam probably had him figured out already in every way he could. “But rather than you doing it with a random pick up, there is a more comfortable solution. Maybe.”

“Uuuh, do you mean a prostitute?”

“What?” Cas almost choked. His chest felt tight, heart pounding in his ears. _Ugh. Ugh god_ , this was turning out weirder than he imagined. “No, no, that's not legal. I meant...I mean, me.”

“You _what_?” Disbelief. Good or bad? Cas had no idea at this point.

“I would be a sort of proxy for...for your brother.”

“You want me to fuck you.”

“Not right away, or even necessarily at all, if you don't want to. More to talk and...maybe some affection would be beneficial. You can think about it. You can say no, and I won't be offended in the least.”

“Okay.” Sam paused. Cas heard him breathing, something shuffling around. “That's an 'okay I'll think about it' okay, by the way. Not a yes.”

“Okay. That's acceptable.”

“People really do this?”

“Of course. Feel free to look it up. There may even be videos.”

“And now you want me to watch porn? Honestly, you might be the best doctor I've ever seen.”

“Obviously you're joking so I won't respond to that. Call me before Tuesday?”

“Promise.”

“Okay. Okay, that was all.”

“Aw.”

_Don't. Just don't._

“Have a good evening, Sam.”

“See you, doc.”

Doc. For the second time. Cas hated that, usually, but hanging up the phone, he smiled. Sam hadn't screamed or called him a perv or chucked the phone across the room. Or called the cops or had him discredited. And it was a real thing, Cas kept reminding himself. This wasn't self serving. This wasn't supposed to be self serving, at least. This was a _real thing_.

And he was _really hard_ about it now.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Sam got to pick the place. Dean didn't usually do lunch, Dean preferred darkness and dim bars and chilly nights but he decided on lunch on Sunday and Sam wasn't complaining. Sam waited in a booth in a diner, like the thousands of diners before, forever. Facing the door, so he saw Dean when he walked in, bowlegs wrapped tight in darkwash, boots with a bit of a heel, dark brown jacket dark brown plaid shirt cream coloured v-neck combo.

Sam felt like everyone in the place turned to stare when Dean walked in. But Sam felt like that everywhere with Dean.

“Heya Sammy,” Dean ground out, clapping a hand on Sam's shoulder before he slid into the booth opposite. He jostled Sam's legs under the table looking for the right position and didn't apologize. Why should he. Sam did instead, muttering it under his breath.

“Nice day, right? Don't usually get to see you in the sunlight.”

“Cute,” Dean mocked him, scanning the menu. “I just thought a change of pace might be nice. Y'know, diner, old times.”

“Yeah, I was thinking that.”

“Course you were. Nostalgic. You been here before?” Dean turned his head to scan the glowing specials menu. His hair needed cut, the faintest longish piece curling around his ear. _So pretty, he was always so pretty._ Clean and showery, familiar smelling, no bags around his eyes, no dark circles. Dean was doing good. Grease under his nails and Dean was great.

“Yeah,” Sam answered, thumbing back towards the counter, towards the rotating pie display. “Kinda famous for their pies, so...”

“Aw, Sammy,” Dean grinned, reaching across the table to pat his face. “You always know what I like.”

Sam didn't want to blush but heat rose in his face anyway. Dean ignored it, if he saw it at all. Coffee ordered, burgers each. Small talk; Dean liked to talk about any old cars he saw at the shop. Weren't a lot these days, and Sam only barely cared but he hung on every word. Dean taught him all the car-stuff when he'd just started walking and it tied them together tight as anything else. Dean talked about girls sometimes too; pick ups from bars or dates with customers, talked about them in vague unimpressive ways like plowing through a field looking for a diamond. No settling down, not for Dean. Not yet. Sam dreaded the day it would come, the day Dean would look at him and say _she's the one_ or _met the best girl, Sammy, you gotta see her_ or _well, I knocked one up_. But it hadn't happened yet and Dean was pushing 35; maybe it wouldn't.

“Hey, you look good, y'know?” Dean said, interrupted himself going on about spark plugs of the 70s to say it, gesturing absently at his brother. “New workout or something? Chugging something gross and green every morning?”

“No, uh, thanks. Still just running and lifting. Still too much bacon for breakfast, probably but, uh, I guess there is something.”

“Yeah?” Dean's eyebrows raised, face lit up curious, moving his coffee to lean over the table at Sam. “You meet someone?”

Kind of. Sort of. Not in the way you'd expect. Not in the way he should be saying or considering. He hadn't planned on telling Dean about Cas Novak, Dean or anyone else but especially Dean.

“Kinda?” He winced, settling his coffee cup in line with his napkin and unused spoon, setting his plate against the very edge of the table, squaring it all up.

“So...yes? Wanna tell me about him?”

“It's not like that,” Sam answered immediately, still staring down at the white china on the slick red table, smearing away grease stains with his napkin. “It's just someone to talk to.”

“A shrink.” Dean sat back. Sam didn't have to look at him to know the pose: arms crossed, eyes narrow, face suspicious, turned to the window and considering the parking lot instead of him. “What for?”

“A therapist,” Sam corrected him. “Uh, because how we were raised was jacked? And you know, after Dad...I just want to try and get my shit together.”

“It is together, Sammy,” Dean shot back, gruff, already offended. “You like your job, you got a nice place. You got me. I think you're doing fine.”

“Sure, okay,” Sam shrugged, sighing quietly and staring out the same window as Dean. Blue car did a bad three point turn, girl walked a pug past them with its mouth wide open, tongue hanging out. Bright, beautiful afternoon. _You got me_. “It's nice just to talk to someone, Dean.”

“You can talk to me.”

Sam laughed, couldn't help it bubbling out because _no, nope_ he absolutely could not talk to Dean. “I _am_ talking to you and you've got your arms crossed and you're staring out the window instead of looking at me and you already wholesale negated the fact that I'm going to a therapist in the first place. Do you really think I could talk to you? About _everything_?”

“Yeah,” Dean grumbled, sliding his eyes back on Sam, making a show of uncrossing his arms and laying his palms flat on the table. He smiled when the waitress took their plates but looked back at Sam a second later with no trace of it left. “You _should_ be able to tell me everything, Sammy. You used to. Jeez, time was you couldn't even pick up a rock without tellin' me about it. I'd hear about every single butterfly on your nature walks.”

“And you just got super defensive when I said we were raised like shit.”

“I did my best,” Dean hissed, exploded it out so hard Sam was surprised he didn't spit, surprised everyone didn't turn to stare at them. “And you made it, so just shut up about it, okay? You did fine.”

“Dean. It's not on you,” Sam explained. Tried to explain. “Don't get personally offended, okay? I know you did your best and I'm not talking about that.”

“So you're just insulting Dad's memory to your little shrink pal? Cause that's great too.”

“No! Jesus,” Sam took a deep breath, stomach prickling annoyingly, apprehensive. He hated this fight with Dean, this old scar they hadn't picked at for a while. “I'm not blaming anyone, it's not about that. It's just about talking, and someone listening and maybe – maybe – giving me some insight into my behaviour, or Dad's, or yours or - “

“No, nuh uh,” Dean raised his hands, palms out, pursed lips and head shaking. “You leave me out of it.”

“It's not about you, Dean.” It sounded like a lie. But Dean pretended it didn't, so Sam pretended with him. “Anyway, you said I looked good, right? So this is why. You asked. I feel good, I feel...kind of unburdened. He's really good.”

It took a few seconds, but then Dean relaxed, brow creasing. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. It's an hour a week. Been twice. Just talking so far but he's kind of known for these...I don't know, like, different methods of treatment? Really working through intense stuff with like - “

“If you say puppets, I swear to christ - “

“No, oh my god, I'm not seven trying to explain Father O'Malley's bad touch, jesus Dean.”

“Ew.”

“I know, gross example.”

“That's, uh - “

“That was total fiction.”

“You got a fucked up mind, little bro.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed with a sigh, but Dean grinned. Loved when Dean grinned. Lit up the world when he grinned, perfect straight teeth and his eyes alight and he was such a dick, how could Sam even possibly still love him this much?

And, back of his mind, how could he possibly replicate _this_ with someone else? These feelings, this easy attraction? Would it make a difference? Would it help? Would it make everything worse? No way to tell, no way out but through, right? Fuck.

“You got a card?”

Sam frowned, not even sure what Dean was talking about for a good handful of seconds. “Uh, for...”

“The shrink, jesus, don't make me yell it.”

Oh, that was a bad idea, but Sam fished it out of his wallet anyway, sliding it across the table for Dean.

“ _Doctor Cas Novak_. It's a guy? Named Cas?”

“Yeah, Dean, don't take issue with his name.”

“I'm not, I'm not,” Dean grumbled, rolled his eyes so they caught all the light from outside and went bright, watery green, like moss, like some beautiful pond in the midday sun, busy and algae soaked. “Just, y'know, if it was a girl,” Dean chuckled, stuffing the card away in one of his coat pockets, “I mean, it'd be really unprofessional because she'd totally fall in love with me. Couldn't resist, especially once we got real deep into my brain. Not even her fault. Course, then she'd have to leave her job and it'd just be no end of grief, so. Just makin' sure it's a dude.”

“A guy wouldn't fall in love with you?” Sam asked, joking, swallowing hard because it made his throat dry.

“Oh, I dunno, maybe. But I'd be able to say no,” Dean answered. If Sam didn't know him any better, he wouldn't have made anything of the crease of his brows and the gentle slide away of his eyes, the thick fingers clutching a napkin and ripping at it distractedly. But...huh. He was going to memorize everything and obsess over it until Thursday (or Tuesday? Maybe Tuesday, maybe he'd say yes) because that was a weird reaction. Un-Dean. Self-doubt Dean. Years since he'd seen it.

“Sure. Cas is pretty hot, I'll admit,” Sam blurted out but it felt good to acknowledge that out loud, finally. Because, well, he couldn't tell it to C _as_. “But I got dibs.”

“And I will honour those dibs, Sam. Because I'm a good brother. But, assuming he's actually a professional - “

“He _is - “_

“Then no amount of dibs matters because he's as good as a eunuch.”

“Ew, Dean.”

Sam wanted to say _he wants to fuck me_ and leave out the therapy part. Wanted to real bad and what did that say about the decision he was supposed to make before Tuesday? What would Dean think of that kinda treatment? Couldn't even tell him because then Sam would have to cop to a lot more shit. He kind of wanted to see the look on his brother's face. But that was not worth it. Just more stuff to shove up inside and keep quiet. At least until Thursday (or Tuesday?).

Pie came; they ate, they joked, they split the check and left. Sam drove home the long way, felt bittersweet like every time he saw Dean. Always so easy, so comfortable. He wanted to spend more time with him, like every second of the day mostly, but whatever he could get was good enough and not good enough, too much, never enough. That was Dean.

 

* * *

 

That night, Sam did what he usually did after he saw Dean. No porn, he didn't need it, not for this. He had three decades of memories to keep him going, and the smell of Dean when they'd hugged hours before, engine grease and coriander and tires and the apple pie and vanilla ice cream. That was easy to sink into, smell first, sprawled legs out, back to the wall, on his bed.

An innocent hug, innocent little sniff _could_ easily turn into a long nuzzle along Dean's neck, where it got a bit sweaty against his collar sometimes. Sometimes he wanted to lick at it, to shove Dean back against a wall and drag his tongue down the sandpaper stubble and under his collar. Wanted to bite along his shoulder. Kind of hard, actually. Until Dean squirmed and moaned and clutched at him.

_Yeah. That'd definitely happen._

It got him hard anyway, pretty fast

For some reason, this memory; motel door cracked open and Dean inside with a girl. Even if the door was shut, he'd be an idiot not to understand what was happening in there from all the fucking moaning. When he pressed his face into the door, Dean slid down the bed, down this girl's soft body and Sam couldn't see her head. Dean wasn't even naked, maybe down one top layer and that made it hotter somehow.

He knew Sam was there too; parts of the memory were totally hazy and weird but Dean turning and winking and smirking at him shone like a thousand suns. Then he turned back and his face was lost between the legs wrapping around his head. So that was the first time Sam got a boner watching Dean fuck; until 14 or so, it just made him feel odd, a little scared, but that stupid _interaction_ got him. Got him fixated on Dean's mouth too.

Sam slouched on the bed, softly tilted his hips up into his hand, fucking the loose grasp of his fist. Slow. He took the memory as a sign and swapped himself for the girl. Yeah, that'd do. He made girls scream with that mouth so, what was it like? Lots of tongue, probably. Lots of noise. Probably felt like heaven, Dean growling against his balls and up his dick. Growling around it while he took it down like a challenge.

Dean excelled at everything; Sam assumed, at least for the purposes of jerking off, that he'd be an expert at sucking dick too. He knew plenty firsthand too, more hazy memories that colluded into one best-of reel. Sam liked thinking about fucking Dean's pretty mouth often, and he _knew_ Dean liked that from the number of girls he'd seen literally banging his brother's face. In all kinds of ways. So, that would translate. Pretty easily.

Dean might give a cute little hitch of his breath at Sam tugging his hair, tugging his head down and down and not letting up. Then he'd hold Dean in place and just pump in there until Dean was all watery pleading eyes and nails scratching at his thighs. Might not relent even then, he'd probably just shove in and watch Dean's face go red for a few long seconds. Maybe he'd cry when Sam let him up.

It was a long trip from _Dean smells like apples_ to _Dean's choking on my dick_ but Sam figured he was a monster anyway, might as well indulge it however he could.

So.

_Why not with Cas?_

Sam frowned, his eyes shut with imagining, pace on his dick slowing down as the scene changed up. Dean on his lap, his hands on his chest, bouncing and swearing and sweating. Telling Sam how much he needed his dick. He could do that forever, ride him like that. Never seemed to tire in Sam's mind. Hands on his hips, fingers digging into the plush space there. Sometimes one hand on Dean's dick, yeah, making him whine and ride faster. That worked too. Edge him a bit, half a dozen times. Hold him still and pound up into him until he screamed and then...and then...

Dean's face split in this relieved mystified happy smile, flopping down chest against Sam's chest, snaking his hands up around his neck into his hair, everywhere. Sealing up Sam's mouth and still bouncing on his dick, as if he'd ever stop, and coming sticky and fast between them. Shuddering.

_I love you Sammy_ , in his ear, in his mouth, against his tongue.

Sam groaned and came, surprised, wet and hot up his clenched abs, eyes squeezed shut, glued shut, shut forever. Leaking over his fist and sliding back down while he was still twitching, blurting out the last throes.

Before it all weighed down real heavy, there was a drowsy few seconds spent in the fantasy, with Dean gasping and happy and come-filled.

And, you know, imaginary.

Sam's chest tightened and he couldn't even reach for tissues before the sobbing started, hard and full bodied and he curled up on his side already, vice-gripped a pillow against his chest. It didn't always happen after, just those times when the porno hot version of his brother who lived in the yank bank went rogue and got _feelings_ involved. Of all the fucking treachery.

It sucked. He was better than this. At 15, sure, teenagers cried. But it was not so becoming anymore, not so cute, not some magazine angst or airport novel. He just shouldn't do this. Not still.

But it subsided.

Sam ached everywhere, hobbled to the bathroom to clean the jizz off himself, tie his hair back and splash his face with cool water. Naked and on the edge of the bed, he called Cas. Borderline too late to be polite, 10:34pm but Cas answered anyway.

“Hello.” Not a question. Just a low, deep greeting, far away but still hinting at the tone it really carried in person.

Sam hunched and sighed before he said anything.

“I'll do that thing. The therapy you suggested.”

“Oh. Okay. I really think you'll benefit from it.”

“Jesus, I hope so,” Sam muttered. Throwing himself back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. It was nothing, it was flat white like his whole apartment. It was soothing sometimes.

“Did something happen?”

Glossing over that.

“What do I need to bring?”

“Nothing, but think about any scenarios that might resonate with you. Things that actually happened, or not. Fantasies, daydreams.” Pause; Sam could almost see his face, the frown, the squint. “It doesn't have to be sexual.”

“Okay. But it probably will be.”

“That's fine. Just come prepared to discuss a situation that might be fulfilling to you.”

“Got it. Tuesday.”

“8pm.”

“Should I bring wine or - “

“Sam.”

“Sorry. Bye.”

He didn't wait, he hung right up and dropped the phone onto his chest. If Cas weren't half so handsome, he wouldn't want to do this. If it weren't so...weird and sticky. He liked it, that familiarity of wrongness. Just more confirmation that he was fucked up and he would remain fucked up whether he talked about it or not. Leaned into it or not. It was just there. Fucked up.

 

* * *

 

Dean was basically professional at picking up at this point. You name it, he could have it. He went through phases. Hair colours, eye colours, asses, tits. Ages, careers, leather jackets. There was so much to explore. But the recent trend was admittedly unsettling. All his dick wanted were guys and no big deal there because that was experimental old hat but it was bigger guys, and he was a big guy anyway, and it was dark haired guys, and it wasn't worth explaining it.

He found them from behind usually, because the back was important, and shoulders too. Waist. The way he stood. Like this guy, this dark navy t-shirt with muscles jutting out and a tiny little waist and ass and hips, a long arm pulling through his hair. Dean didn't waste time. Ever. He slid up beside the guy and leaned against the bar in his direction. Three empty shots, lined up.

Well, that was something to talk about.

“Hey, what's the occasion?” he opened easily, elbowing the guy lightly.

There was always this moment of disappointment he didn't understand, when they turned to him. Never what he expected.

This one was good enough. Brown eyes, wide lips. Tattoo creeping up his neck. He grinned when he looked at Dean and gave him a very obvious once over and then eased back against his chair, gesturing for the bartender.

So his name was Bryant and he was from Ohio and Dean fucked him in the back of his big old car with one of the doors opened. He took pictures; their dicks sliding together, Bryant's tight little ass opening for his fingers and then his dick. A couple different views of that. Nothing too crazy. Dean promised he'd send them to him later. He did. He kept his word. He thought he might actually call this guy again, like in a month or two. Might like to get pinned down too, to do some screaming. Get Bryant to take the pictures. He wanted to see himself under him, a sharp need all of a sudden when he considered a shadowy picture of his pick-ups face scrunched up in pleasure, hair fanned across the seat.

Yeah, he could stand to see that again.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Maybe the wine _was_ a good idea. No amount of research could settle Cas. And he had to be beyond professional right now, had to expect nothing and not think about what Sam wanted to do. To him, on him, near him. Maybe he'd just want to reenact some of the legendary jerk off sessions. Take them further.

_Stop thinking about it._

Cas stood in front of the door and waited. Listened like a dog for the growl of Sam's car. It was never like this, never ever, not once with any of his clients. He'd never offered a service exactly like this before, sure, but he'd never become so instantly wrapped in someone's issues so gladly and willingly and cheerfully. This stuff hurt. He shouldn't take such an interest, shouldn't hang on every word.

Shouldn't still be jerking off to all that incest porn, fake or not.

His stomach dropped a second at the sound of the car door. Footsteps up the porch and he still had to get his shit together. Deep breath, totally okay, definitely fine, just work. Helping Sam, that's what he did. He helped people who needed it in myriad ways and this just happened to be one of the ways.

It didn't have to get sexual.

But god, fuck it all, he wanted it to.

Sam knocked gently and Cas jumped. Heart fucking hammering his chest. _Get it together. Don't freak him out. Breathe. Don't fucking freak him out._

Cas swooped the door open and used his most calming smile, totally at odds with everything inside of him. “Sam, how are you?”

“I'm alright,” Sam said, unconvincingly, crossing the doorway. Getting closer than before when he brushed past Cas. No jacket, plaid button-up unbuttoned completely, pretty blues and sunny yellows. White v-neck that dipped way too low. Or no, no, it was normal, it was just that Cas shouldn't be fucking looking at his client like that, perving at the faint dusting of dark chest hair that rose up, wondering if he'd get to lay there tonight.

If it helped Sam, then yes. For Sam. All for Sam.

“Can I get you anything? Water or soda or...”

“See, I knew I should have brought the wine.” Easy smile, hands shoving into his pockets.

“That would be pretty unprofessional, to drink and work like that. And then I'd be taking advantage of you. So no.”

“Jeez, lighten up,” Sam muttered, smirking.

Cas sighed. He was right. Sam was just joking and Cas was being a beast and he needed to get this started.

“There's a room upstairs I thought we could use,” he suggested, “A guest room type thing. You can at least come look with me if you don't end up liking it.”

“So it's a bedroom?”

“There's a couch, chairs, a bed, yes, but it's more multi-purpose than that. And we'll be talking first.”

“Well, I figured. Go on, show me,” Sam gestured up the stairs and Cas started right away. Small blessings.

He couldn't do this in his therapy room. Couldn't look at the chair and imagine...whatever was going to to happen, for hours and hours a day. And they probably needed a bed, if their previous discussions were anything to go by.

Cas decorated this room himself too. It didn't have revolving decor like the downstairs but stayed fixed in sage and grey. Big. Big window that took up almost an entire wall, draped with white diaphanous curtains,, the street lamp shining through where the sun usually did. There were darker panels on either side, that accent dove grey, to block out sun, if that happened. It wouldn't tonight. Sam wouldn't stay. They hadn't set a time limit but Cas couldn't imagine Sam staying more than a few hours. But then, if he wanted to, it might be nice.

It would be really, really not right. But nice.

“Oh, it's big,” Sam said, lingering in the doorway a second before he stepped in. He filled up doorways, it was fucking obscene, the hugeness. Cas was going to have _that_ on him and he was huge.

“I thought it would be comfortable. You can sit, if you'd like.”

He did. Chair by the window, peeking out the curtains. Just to see; he closed them again right away. Cas took the chair across from him, set conversation style around a bar cart with a tea service on it. Neither of them antiques, just old, outdated, cutesy. The room felt smaller than usual.

“How do we...”

“We need to talk first,” Cas assured him, rubbing his hands over the arm of the chair, perching on the cushioned edge of it.

“You don't have your notebook?” Sam asked, eyebrows shot up. Kind of challenging actually.

“You like to look at it, are you disappointed?”

“Just wondering if you'll be able to remember everything.”

“I think I've got it. You know, anyone else and that would have been a serious problem,” Cas thought aloud. Shouldn't be bantering with a client but he did it anyway.

“It's not with me?” Sam looked so relaxed, too relaxed. Lawyer relaxed.

“Given your profession, or both of them, invasion of privacy is probably second nature. You probably didn't even think about it.”

“I did. A bit.”

“Anyway,” Cas drawled slow, tried to switch gears but god, they played so well, fit into each other exactly perfectly already. “I asked you to think of a few scenarios.”

Sam looked less cocky then, his smirk fading into a thin set line, still dimples in his cheeks while he scratched at the stubble. “Yeah. There's a few.”

“Is there one that's more important or more...emotional than the others?”

“No. They kind of all suck.”

“Okay,” Cas laughed, “We don't have to use them.”

“It's just...this is still kind of weird.”

“I know. We don't have to do anything sexual, like I said. We can spend the time talking or engaging in other physical things. Wrestling, maybe, if you ever did that with your brother. Or just simple affection, hugging or hand-holding or cuddling.”

“Really?” Sam asked. Visibly incredulous. Face scrunched up a little, eyes passing over to the bed and then fixing on Cas again. “I kinda think the...sappy stuff might be worse. For me, I mean.”

Cas itched to write that down but no notebook. He'd remember though. It made him sad, so he'd remember. “Can you say why?”

Sam sighed out his nose in a rush, shrugging his shoulders. Hunching. “It's way too out of the realm of possibility. Like, okay, sex I can see happening. I mean, not _really_ , but it's not as much of a stretch. But there's no way...like, with the hand holding and...that stuff wouldn't happen.” Sam's face twitched a bit, faintest chin quiver. Hard blinking.

Christ almighty, that was sad.

“Well...that's the thing. Nothing we do has to be rooted in anything that _could_ happen, or has happened. It's for you to express yourself in a safe environment. No fear of rejection or need to censor yourself.” Cas wanted to reach over and grab one of Sam's hands; he stared at it, watched it roll against Sam's leg, settle on his knee and then fuck it, fuck everything, he sunk onto his knees on the floor, grasping at Sam's hand with both of his. “I think you could really benefit from this outlet, Sam.”

He couldn't look at up Sam, not like this, but he felt the relaxation in his hand, in his knee against Cas's head his legs splaying a bit, breath puffing out. “Okay. What else?”

“Do you have a preference as far as the traditional top or bottom roles are concerned?"

"Coulda just asked top or bottom."

"...Top or bottom?"

"For this? Top. That work for you?"

"I'll manage. Safe words. Red for stop, absolute full stop because things are bad. Just say it and we're done. Yellow is we can break for some kind of discussion or reset.” Cas rattled off the terms he'd decided, maybe should have led with those but that was okay. He tipped his head up, let his chin rest on Sam's knee, blinking up into the super intense gaze that he could fucking feel, he swore, right inside of him. What was he getting into? God, he liked it so much. “Do you want to call me Dean?”

Sam's eyes went darker, somehow, long throat bobbing in a swallow and then a nod. And his big hand reached down and brushed against Cas's cheek, fingers fluttered past his face to settle on his neck while his thumb slid along his jaw. Engulfing him so easily, just like that.

“Is there something...specific he calls you?”

Sam nodded, pink tongue wetting at his lips and Cas couldn't not chase it with his eyes. “Sammy,” he croaked, throat tight. “Sometimes...he still calls me _kid_ too.”

Cas nodded; _Sammy_. That was _darling_ , he couldn't wait to say it, to moan it, to use it with encouragement, affection. It sounded fucking perfect. “What should I not say? Is there anything?”

Sam swallowed again, his thumb restlessly moving over Cas's jaw, still staring down. He hit on something, Cas saw it in his eyes, but he shook his head instead; maybe he was on the fence about it, maybe he wanted to wait and see. Cas didn't push. If it didn't work, he knew what to do.

“Anything else?” Cas blinked, watched Sam breathe out hard and shake his head again, quicker and more terse. His face darkened already, redder, veins sticking out of his neck. Cas wanted to bite them, wanted to trace the entire expanse of his neck with his mouth. It would probably take hours. “There's lube in the drawer by the bed, as well as various other implements.”

“Oh my god, you make it sound like a science experiment.” Sam blurted out, high nervous laughter but his face split apart beautifully anyway, less sad for a second.

Cas smiled up too, raising from his knees slowly, explaining. “Condoms, toys. Like, vibrators and cock rings and - “

“Okay, I know what toys are,” Sam still laughed; good sign, nervous sign, Cas didn't care. He stepped out and casually slid astride Sam's lap, took his hand and guided it around his waist. Sam studied him a moment, everywhere, unnerving and arousing all at once. It didn't bear reminding now that this was business because fuck it, it was and it wasn't, but it was the best thing. For both of them. “I'm, uh, clean. Tested. And everything.”

Cas's breath hitched. He knew what that meant. Immediately. One arm around Sam's big shoulders, the other on the back of the chair behind him and he nodded, looking down, watching Sam crane up to look at him. “I am too. So.”

“Okay.”

Maybe Cas should have thought ahead, put some music on. Some candles. Some porn. Something so he didn't feel so pinned by those wide eyes blinking up at him, waiting. Maybe that's how it would go, maybe Dean would be the one making the first move. Big brother. It made sense. Cas opened his mouth to ask if everything was set, everything was okay, when Sam's other hand raced for his head, tangled in his permanently messy hair and hauled him down against his mouth.

So yeah, everything was fine.

Sam's mouth brushed dry and warm against his, soft and gentle. His eyes closed and Cas pressed one palm against his chest to feel his heart, racing like a bird's. Cas's eyes fell shut too, his body slouching into the kiss, pressed forward by Sam's hand on the small of his back. That was the first minute or two, quiet and exploratory, some beautiful little world where everything was lazy and warm and just the two of them. _Brothers_. Kissing for the first time. Too easy to wrap himself around that role. Easier because Sam was so intense, so sweet.

It turned very serious very quickly. Cas felt Sam's posture change, draw up straighter, muscles flexing in places he'd never really felt with his two hands before. And the kiss deepened, like, tongue first; Cas whined in surprise, his mouth effortlessly falling open for Sam. Which he must have liked, because Cas felt him groan against his tongue. The hand on his back went sharply south, diving into the waistband of his jeans and grabbing a hard handful of his ass. And then his other hand was there too, tugging him forward, groping Cas, guiding him until they ground into each other. Cas felt every little twitch, felt the swell against him.

He broke the kiss that turned to more of a tongue bath, had to break it to breathe, which turned into a groan of, “God, _Sammy_ ,” against his mouth.

And Sam shuddered under him, growling. Like an actual animal, _growling_. It made Cas's hair stand on end and his dick throb even worse. Sam's long fingers spread him apart already, rubbing dry. Overwhelming him already with his big fucking body and his mouth suddenly latching onto his neck. Sucking, biting, moving. Still rubbing at him but his other hand was tearing at Cas's shirt buttons while he mouthed at his collarbone.

No time at all and Cas perched half-naked in Sam's lap with his dick pulsing against him and his hand on the huge ridge in Sam's pants and _of course he'd be huge have you seen him?_ Cas didn't even know if he could handle all that, if Sam wanted to fuck him. Been a long time. And Sam felt unforgivingly thick, slightly terrifying. And Cas expected some kind of maudlin cry-fuck. This was _so_ not that and after twenty years of repressing something, of course it wouldn't be sad. Not yet, not at the beginning.

This was all Sam and Cas wilting so pretty for him, couldn't even help it. Sam enjoyed it, clearly what he wanted, needed. It made sense. Sam wanted to take charge of this thing, grab it with both hands (as he'd already done) and for a second, Cas felt a spike of fear at how unhinged things might end up. But it was brief; he was already lost in it.

Sam bit him so hard, spiked his teeth into the meat of his chest so fucking deep Cas wasn't sure if he'd get out of it unscathed but when he looked down, there was no blood, just Sam's beautiful mouth blown out thick and red, wet, already, and he licked wide at the spot he'd made, humming happily. Cas kept squeezing at his dick, kept running his whole hand over it trying to figure out where the fuck it ended while Sam hissed.

Cas tried, “Want it, Sammy, want to see your dick. I wanna taste it, wanna - “ And got no more out because Sam literally pushed him off, muscled him onto the floor and spread his legs as wide as he could; room for two or three people to slot between there.

“Do it,” Sam said, breathy and deep, sliding to the edge of the chair so his dark denim trapped erection was right against Cas's face.

He nuzzled at it, felt it jump, felt the heat under his cheek while he undid the smooth leather belt and popped the button fly. Bare underneath and he gasped when Sam's dick sprung up, already dark and wet around the head and oh my god, _huge_. Cas's fist barely wrapped around it. He looked up and Sam's eyes squeezed closed, probably better that way, since Cas knew he looked nothing like Dean. No green eyes – freckles – dirty blond but if Sam was this into the situation, it felt like it was working. Mind over matter.

“Big,” Cas sighed, lapping up one side of Sam's shaft, and then back down again, tugging his pants open wider so he could get at Sam's balls. Cas loved balls and he was going to work on the assumption that the Dean Sam had concocted in his head would love them too. Why wouldn't he? They were heavy and smooth and Cas squeezed with one hand, kept the other stroking at Sam's dick, then went at them with his mouth.

Sam gasped above him, hips jamming everything closer while Cas kept sucking, mouthing at him and moaning until he was reward with the quietest little whine, just a little exhale of, “Oh, Dean,” above him. He grinned and moaned again, louder.

Didn't want to stop, but he had to fucking breathe. Although, if he was going to die breathless, Cas couldn't pick a better method than suffocation by balls. “Love your fucking balls, Sam,” he rasped out, between long licks of Sam's dick again, leaking even more now. “Wanna empty 'em in me? Huh? Wanna do it in my mouth, or my ass?”

“Do I really have to pick one?” Sam laughed, a little breathless above him, his fingers digging sharply into Cas's hair to push his mouth down. Cas looked up at saw him biting at his lip, his chest rising under his v-neck and fuck, if both his hands weren't completely occupied with, probably, the biggest dick he'd ever had in his face, he'd be stripping him already. “I mean, right now your pretty mouth's kind of convenient.”

_Pretty_.

Cas grinned wide, rubbing it against Sam's sticky head and licking away the freshest drops. He cleanedhis lips in a slow showy move that made Sam gasp, which was a wholly beautiful noise; he wanted more of that. He sunk his mouth down around Sam in a smooth sweep, not hard since it was wide, big, almost easier this way than the way his hand strained around it. He traced veins under his tongue the whole way and he couldn't manage all of it just yet. Good to have goals though.

“You can do it, c'mon,” Sam pushed at his head again, his other hand resting against his neck so his thumb could rub against his lips, open his mouth wider. “Bet you look real good choking on it.”

If that wasn't encouragement, Cas didn't know what was. He let Sam probe his mouth open wider with his fingers, moaning at the stretch and then the invasion of his dick again, slow because Sam was controlling everything now, rocking his hips gently up and pulling Cas's head down and it seemed to take forever. Like this giant dick was fucking eternity in the best way and Cas didn't care if he spent the rest of his days trying to fit in down his throat.

He definitely choked, gagged just a little when Sam bumped at the back of his mouth, and it had been a long _long_ time since he'd been with someone big enough for that. But Cas relaxed, breathing through his nose and letting Sam slide in deeper. Almost harder that he was going slow but he liked the control, Cas figured, watching him through watery eyes, the look of concentration insanely hot, his brows drawn down, tongue poking at his lips. Red everywhere Cas could see, his face, his neck. Even his hands were darker with bloodflow. His eyes were certainly darker green-brown-hazel-whatever.

_What the fuck kind of monster have you wrought?_

Sam's balls smashed against Cas's chin all of a sudden and he tried to relax his throat, but it kept swallowing and he drooled out of the corners of his mouth and Sam grinned, fucking grinned wide and dimpled and teeth and his head fell back in a loud groan. Maybe some respite, then, maybe he'd soak in it for a while.

Nope.

Still sprawled, Sam held Cas's head fast, kept him firmly in one place while he slid slow out of his throat, not even all the way before he was thrusting sharp back in. Cas could barely keep up, the stretch was ridiculous and his eyes watered freely, marked up his cheeks, mixed with the mess of drool falling out of his mouth. Sam wasn't watching. But he fucked Cas's face like he meant it, like everything depended on it. Not even that _fast_ but so deep, so thorough and mesmerizing and Cas had to remember to breathe.

But god, he loved it. Loved it how Dean should love it. He was fucking missing out but it was Cas's gain, and he felt an unsettled stab of anger. So unprofessional. He could deal with it later. But fuck it all, how could anyone not want this? Sam beautiful and untethered and loud as shit. Seemed to go on forever before Sam got on his feet and wrenched Cas back further, enveloped him.

It turned the corner to brutal for a few heavy seconds and if it weren't Sam, if it were anyone else, he definitely would have tapped out. He hadn't had a good breath in a long time, seeing stars behind his eyelids for a minute, for more but it's _fine_. It's working. Even though Sam isn't saying anything, just panting and fucking into Cas's mouth, he felt it working.

After another minute or sixty, Sam pulled out without shooting, slow or maybe fast; it kind of seemed like all the air in the room rushed back at Cas too fast. He felt a little empty, gasping and staring up at Sam, who unclutched his back and stepped back a little. Looked down. Confused and then sad, his brow creasing in lines and turning down.

Because Cas wasn't Dean. He really couldn't be, no matter what.

Cas averted his eyes quickly, felt a sharp string in his chest that was easy to attribute to the fresh air soaking back in. He lowered his head and wiped his face on his sleeve as best he could, clutching Sam's hip and the back of his leg, his firm calf. Resting his head against him, against the pretty pop of his hipbone and the channel that ran up his fucking cut stomach. Fuck. So gorgeous, so goddamned sad.

Cas grabbed at his dick again, both hands, rubbing it around his swollen lips, his forehead pressed against Sam's hip so his head angled away. So Sam could more easily put a different face on him. What now? Anything. He was a little disappointed Sam hadn't shot down his throat, but he was also keenly aware of his own cock crammed up against his jeans, likely messing up his underwear. Yeah. Definitely.

His throat screamed fucking raw and they had too many clothes on and this was _therapy sex_  ,this wasn't a pick up but my god, it'd be at the top of the heap if it were. Already.

Sam was still quiet. Cas kitten-licked at his dick and made him shudder and asked, “You wanna fuck me, Sammy? You wanna bend me over something and - “

He never finished; Sam hauled him up by his neck and his open shirt and twisted and manhandled until Cas bent over the bed and well, he had asked, so it was fair enough.

“Yeah,” Sam growled out, stripping Cas as he pushed him down, shirt gone, draping over him with his chest to his back while he went for his belt.

On the sharp tug, Cas's mind raced with all these possibilities that would never, ever happen, or if ever, not yet. Sam with the belt though, binding his hands. Above his head, behind his back. Why that, he had no idea, but it floated away once Sam squeezed his dick through his pants with his big hand and gave a satisfied grunt against his neck, his teeth scraping the sweat-soaked skin.

“So that's for me?” Sam asked, same low animal tone, his chest hot and huge against Cas's bare back.

Cas arched up against him, face pressed into the bed, nodding wildly because god, it felt so good to be touched at last, to have that big hand massaging him even through two layers. That grip and that warmth like, everywhere, huffing out against his neck and pressing him down. So this was how Sam wanted his brother, squirming hard, already a mess from having his face fucked, and like, five seconds away from begging.

Again, Cas slung mental epithets at this Dean asshole; he was missing out big time. And passing judgments like that? Totally unacceptable but...later. For now, fuck him.

“I asked you a question, Dean.”

_Oh god, that was him, that was right, he was the asshole._

Cas moaned into the bed, rocking down against Sam's palm. “Yes, god, of course it's for you. Are you...” Couldn't get the rest out, not with Sam touching him like that, so thorough, so fluid and what if he came in his pants? Fuck, he'd just keep going. He knew it. Kind of embarrassing.

“Am I gonna _what_?” One of Sam's big hands pressed against his head, pushing him harder against the mattress. “Am I ever gonna take your dick out? Cause, yes, eventually. Am I gonna fuck you? Because also, yes. Unless you don't think you can take it.”

He wore that whole cocky thing so well that Cas felt his dick leaking again at the edge in his voice, at the challenge he layed down.

“I can take it,” Cas said, fighting to keep his voice even, to stop the edge of doubt there. He could still feel Sam's dick pressing against him through the jeans, somewhere near his ass, just a thick hot brand against him. His mouth was still stretched and sore and his throat might never be the same. But, “Sam, I can _take it_.”

Sam liked that; he drew up and yanked at Cas's pants and underpants in one go, palming at his ass with one hand while the other pressed him down against the bed, his aching hard dick rubbing slick onto the comforter. He heard Sam sliding the drawer open, drawer by the bed. Heard him swear softly because yeah, as promised, it was pretty stocked. But Sam knew what he wanted, clearly; Cas watched him pull out the lube, big bottle pump top for easy dispensing. Hypo-allergenic and scent- and flavour- and sugar-free. He'd tested it out personally.

But like, months ago. God, it had been months since he'd had so much as a finger up his ass and now...his face heated up against the sheets as Sam groped him hard, pulling him apart, apparently inspecting from the noises he made. Cas jumped as the pad of a finger pressed against his hole, dry still but warm, big. He felt the resistant clench and revolved to relax. Easier said than done.

But Sam took his time with this, more than with the breakneck blow job at least. Cas expected fingers, slicked and a little chilly but he got warm and wet and wriggling instead, soft and insistent and he couldn't see behind him but he made out Sam bent and he gasped. Yep. Sam on his knees behind him, licking him open. He tugged Cas's dick back through his legs to stroke it too, sometimes licking down the whole thing. Back up.

Cas shuddered and moaned, never wanted it to stop, like never ever, therapy be damned, he would burn his degrees and decry the whole profession if it meant having Sam's tongue in his ass. His fingers there too, slicked up but _warm_ , and his tongue too, thank god may it never leave, Cas would start praying if he had to. Sam pressed in slow, had Cas swearing and his dick twitching at the awkward angle, which made Sam laugh kind of low against his ass which just made him clench up more. Fucking roller coaster of hotness and Cas lost his mind.

Sam got the tip of his index finger in and even that felt tight, made Cas sweat, but the rest slid in surprisingly easy. He tried to relax and it probably worked. But, god, just that felt big, huge, such a snug little stretch. But then-

“Two?” Sam leaned down, nipped his teeth against Cas's back and teased the tip of his index finger, just barely slipped the two tips in.

Cas gasped and pressed back in answer and Sam went deeper, went with Cas's body and let him rock back until they were both decidedly, firmly in.

Kind of burned. Because. Big hands, huge, but the dick was bigger, jutting up against Cas's hip, sometimes his thigh; he felt it jumping and leaking just as well as he could feel his own, feel it dripping steadily down his thigh while Sam fingered him, or more accurately, while he moaned like a bitch and fucked himself on Sam's hand.

_His brother's hand._

“Doing so good,” Sam crooned against his skin, suddenly biting his way back down between Cas's legs, running his mouth along his dick, licking up the sticky line of dripping precome. “You'll be ready in no time. Bet you can come while I'm fucking you, without your hands. Gonna pin 'em over your head and make you get off on my dick. It'll be real good, I promise.”

The tip of a third finger barely nudged and Cas really truly wasn't sure he could take it but _relax_ , _relax relax_ , and Sam got there. Slow, dragging a bit even with the lube because Cas couldn't stop clenching, couldn't stop moaning either or wheezing when he had to actually suck in a breath. He fucking wanted it now, wanted all those things Sam said.

So. “Fuck me? Please?” He craned his neck to say, craned until it hurt, until he could catch Sam's eyes just for a second; less disappointment there now but it was still a little jarring. But also, he got the sense that it didn't matter too much, not right now. Because, eye contact while Sam lubed up his dick, challenging in that quiet way of his that set Cas onto the most delicious edge, every time. Like it wasn't _exactly_ a game, but it wasn't far off. The shit he was supposed to discourage.

He was kind of doing a terrible job.

His neck ached but he couldn't look away. Still staring, even when Sam nudged at his stretched hole with his dick. His eyes went wide but he was still staring, scrabbling one hand back towards Sam but not to stop him. Just to touch those ripply muscles popping everywhere. The angle hurt his neck even more and he gave up first, twisting his head back down onto the bed right when Sam _pushed_ , dragged slow inside of Cas and then out. Breathing audible, hard, even through Cas's garbled nonsense noise.

This was totally what Dean would be doing in this situation, Cas told himself. Or at least what Sam wanted him to do; All the begging and the pliancy. It poured out from how Sam treated him. Both of Sam's hands fit neatly around Cas's hips, and he was not small. Sam folded him back onto his dick in slow increments, took away any control besides Cas's hands fisting into the sheets above his head. Seemed too fast like more time should have passed but Sam was all the way, balls deep and squeezing Cas's waist, trying to shove him further but there was nowhere to go. The size, fucking insane, knocked all the breath out of Cas.

Never had a dick so big and this wasn't even supposed to count, the best he'd ever been fucked and this was _work,_ just a proxy for someone else. Life was weird, sometimes.

“That what you wanted?” Sam's rough voice jerked Cas out of his own head, brought him back down to the reality of a porn-star dick and a massive, frustrated, pent-up body draping down over top of him. Sam's sweaty hair dripped against Cas's back, against his neck. He shivered, waited for Sam to move but it didn't happen, not yet. Sam's mouth traced his ear, one hand tight around the back of his neck and the other bruising around his hip. “Tell me this is what you wanted, _Dean_.”

Enough harshness in the name to make Cas shiver, to spur him into answering, voice rough and strained pressed into the bed as he was. “All I wanted,” he panted, tried and failed to move underneath Sam's big body, “This, this is all I wanted, Sam. Your dick in me, that's all.”

“I don't think it's all,” Sam said, mocking edge in his deep voice, drawing himself up off Cas again. “Cause I haven't even really started to fuck you yet. And I know you wanted _that_.”

Cas was ready, tip of his tongue to say yes, yep, totally, fuck me, whatever Sam wanted to hear but he dragged his dick out and then punched back in and it literally knocked the breath out of Cas once, twice, thumped it out again on every fucking stroke and for a second, he really did consider that he might die

But he adjusted, somehow, although the stretch still felt intense and he couldn't stop clenching. Sam plowed right along, both hands on Cas's hips again, forcing him higher so his dick slapped against his stomach and normally, it would be in his hand, but he had faith in what Sam had said before. It'd happen.

Cas let himself sink into it for a while until he became nothing but the fucking, nothing but the sharp slick pounding in his ass, the thrumming ceaselessly against that spot that made his dick leak like a fountain, made him moan in the most ridiculous, uncontrollable way.

And Sam got lost in it too; Cas dared a glance back and Sam's eyes were shut, face screwed up, his whole body tense and beautiful and in motion, constant pounding motion. Not saying anything, either of them. What's there to say?

_Well, actually._

Sam shoved with his whole body, his meaty thighs catching the tops of Cas's and pushing him forward so he was even more crunched up, manhandled onto the bed, the weight dipping the sides and then more, dangerously so when Sam pushed on behind him. So much room and they'd crammed up together on the edge, the angle sharper than before, deeper because Sam rammed in from up higher, shoved Cas's shoulders down with just one big hand. And he leaned down close and hot and huge, hissed, “Don't come until I say.”

“Yes, yes Sam, yes, “Cas heard himself babbling again, without really thinking. At all. Like he was entirely there for Sam to fill him up, feed him his lines and have his way and that was okay. He couldn't pretend it didn't feel amazing, the fucking and the total loss of control. Or just the illusion of it, because if he said one of two words, everything would halt so maybe that was the power.

_No, jesus, Cas you are fucked up._ That's normal, that's consent, you're a fucking therapist, you're not some whore-doll.

Oh he got so fucked up over Sam's dick, over Sam's problems.

“Good,” Sam crooned, gritted teeth, “Fuck, you're so good for me, so tight, fucking need it. You'd cry for it if I didn't give it to you, huh? Know you would.” So much dirty talk, all low and deep half growls, meaning nothing, meaning everything too and Cas couldn't think to respond besides with whining, dumb little pleas.

Time went all weird. That never happened before. Disassociating _?_ Well maybe, but only to drop into someone _else_ so what the fuck. He bent almost painfully, Sam holding him in place, squeezing and grabbing wherever he could, sometimes Cas's hair but most often around his waist, his hips, his ass. Back of his neck for a minute or ten, pushing him hard against the soft bed. Couldn't even breathe for a second there. Felt himself leaking against his stomach where he jammed up all weird, like leaking like some prom night girl dripping out.

Way too many firsts. And this was _work_.

_Yeah, keep telling yourself that._

One of Sam's hands got underneath him, started pawing at his dick, slow and firm and just his palm or else one finger, maybe two trailing up the sides, still pounding his ass raw at the same time.

He'd never struggled _not_ to come before, never had instructions not to do it so it was weird to feel it rise up and have to stave it off, spitting, “Stop, gonna come if you - “ into the sheet.

Then,

“Good,” Sam praised again in the roughest kind of way, his hand mashing into Cas's cheek, leaving his dick twitching in the wake. “Good, and I'm gonna let you.” Right up against his ear, Sam's whole molten body collapsing on him. “Come,” he said, gritted teeth, pounding dick. “Come, fucking come.”

Cas did, he didn't even think about it. He shot onto his stomach, secondary to his ass clenching, going so tight around Sam's still-pumping dick until even that was too much for this monster on top of him. Sam stilled, his whole body shuddering on top of Cas, mouth sucking at his neck and sucking up air and sobbing it out.

Sam kept trying to scrabble closer while he unloaded, desperate to get further into Cas but there was nowhere to go, nowhere at all, just balls squishing and Cas more full than he'd ever been in his entire goddamned life and he wasn't even himself, he'd sunk into this other _guy,_ this _brother_ - _thing_ that didn't deserve Sam at all.

A bad thought. 

Had Sam even finished? He'd stopped moving except for the panting and Cas just felt fucked out, stretched and used. Cas had come all over himself pretty copiously too, and after a minute more of soaking, he felt Sam's hand against his stomach, mashing up the mess further.

“Been waiting for that one, huh?” Sam huffed against his ear, actually kind of chuckling it, somehow more obscene than the slick noises, the audible _pop_ of Sam pulling out of his ass. “You came a ton.”

“Yeah, well,” Cas muttered against the bed, sort of flopping forward now that he had command of his body again, letting his stomach mess up the sheet, who the fuck cared. Cradled his head on his arms and sighed the most contented he'd ever felt. Which okay, yeah, that worked because certainly, if he was Dean? That would have been like, life-altering and world-changing fucking.

Okay, it was kind of that for Cas too. But. Later.

He had a few moments of sprawling, contented laying and mindless boneless enjoyment before Sam pounced on him again with all that bulk, twisting him onto his back to paw at him and kiss him and drape and rub like some overgrown affection starved puppy and Cas laughed. God, what else could he do? His hands flew into Sam's hair and he tipped his head back and he fucking laughed and then Sam did too.

Sam nuzzled into his neck and wound his long arms all around Cas and relaxed. Cas felt it, felt his whole body sigh and give and let go.

So he didn't want to move.

They had not set a time table or many rules and he didn't want to move ever and he probably didn't have to. Sam would probably consent to staying like this all night. Maybe they could get a snack. Watch some TV.

Quiet for a few minutes. Sam's even hot breathing against Cas's neck and then his collarbone when that got too sweaty. Maybe he napped, maybe he didn't.

Cas tried to do nothing. Just focus on air, on breathing. Just for now. Don't focus on how comfortable that weight was, how sore your ass feels, but how good. How fucking complete. Later.

_Later_.

Sam stayed. They didn't talk about it. They got pizza. Had beer. And Sam stayed _over_. In Cas's actual bedroom.

A terrible transgression.

The next morning, he woke to Sam waking, relaxed happy loose groaning himself awake and eyelashes fluttering on his neck and then, stiffness. A very quiet, “Oh.”

But Sam didn't really move away, just tucked back against Cas. Sighed. “I thought....for a full minute, I thought you were him.”

_Yeah. Not good._

Cas didn't say anything though. It felt like his fault. This situation shouldn't have happened and he should have pulled back and made Sam leave but instead, he slid a hand onto his bare chest and another into his long hair and letting him press close and saying, “It's okay, Sam.”

“That was a good minute,” Sam said, right away.

It wasn't insulting somehow. Cas didn't apologize. Sam didn't either. It was just this fact and it was kind of expected. And at least he'd said something instead of running screaming or whatever.

A moment later. Cas got shivers, broke out in them up and down his arms and Sam's eyelashes fluttered furious against his neck and his breath went shallow. Sam pushed away, made it to the edge of the bed. Naked. They were both still naked. Sam's back shuddered heavy breaths.

Cas watched.

He shouldn't have stayed.

 

* * *

 

'Session was, from what I've read, fairly typical for sexual therapy. There were a number of things I neglected to set up, such as time limits. Sam required some amount of coaxing. Not excessive. I offered non-sexual activities as well. Sam indicated those might be more emotionally traumatic for him. It's possible he has a very long history of non-sexual but intimate contact with his brother.

There was minimal foreplay.

It was a while before he called me _Dean_. There were instances where he believed it. There were instances when he appeared disappointed to be reminded who was actually in front of him, or underneath him. Or on top of him.

He engaged me orally very quickly and took immediate control. He -'

Cas stared at the monitor, squinted down at his goddamned treacherous dick and huffed a sigh out of his nose. Not right now. Please.

'He talked a normal amount, used my pseudonym a few times. Almost cruelly sometimes. I don't know if that was anger at his brother, or at me for not being his brother. There must have been some overlap. I expected he would finish in my mouth at some point, either down my throat or on my face in some in of marking but we moved on to intercourse after that.'

Cas was still sore from it, his abs, his legs, his mouth. His ass. Even his fingers from grabbing so hard at the sheets while he got fucking railed. And his dick throbbed again.

'There was more than adequate preparation and consent. The brutality was probably only borne on the pent-up attraction, the supposed romantic love for his brother. It seemed to escalate.'

Cas wished he'd timed it. Filmed it, even with a grainy, shitty camera. Fucking phone camera. He could have, easily, probably could have convinced Sam to do it to. Research, right? Emotional healing. _Let's video tape your therapy sex so I can sit around and jerk off to it so I don't have to jerk off to a fucking report._

Cas left out the part where he should probably get sued and stripped of his practice and all of that.

'The entire time, Sam was firmly in control, even manhandling me into positions, without warning.'

His dick was huge.

Write that.

_His penis was enormous. Medically, he had the biggest dick I'd ever seen._

'The control extended to my, or Dean's, orgasms.'

And it wasn't really that difficult to obey him, right? Like, it was good and kind of freeing in a way, because Cas didn't have to think about it. Like now, where he was rubbing at his dick trough his pants and thinking about taking it out? If Sam were here, he'd just tell him. To take it out. Probably. Cas took it out anyway.

'The actual intercourse was fast and athletic and...'

Bendy and fucking better than porn? Write that, let anyone who ever studies your notes see that and know that.

'I noticed Sam's eyes were closed a good deal of the time, and he was slightly preoccupied with pushing my head down, perhaps to get it out of his line of sight. But at times, this wasn't a problem. There was even some eye contact.'

_Yeah, before he stuck that monster dick in you,_ Cas actually muttered out loud, squeezing his fist around his dick and then spitting on it, regripping, stroking. He got pretty good at typing one handed.

'Sam wanted the orgasms to be simultaneous. They were, his internal and mine...'

_No handed needy little slut orgasm._

Cas whined and shut his eyes, stroking faster, remembering the throttle of Sam inside him, the pounding against his prostate and how easy that got him off. All it took was one word, one little word and a whole lot of dick in his ass and he'd spilled. On command. Like a dog.

'And mine was hands-free, from strictly anal stimulation.'

_No one hit that angle before, probably no one else would._

'Session did not conclude until the next morning. This was a mistake, as Sam became despondent the next morning. He woke confused, in my bed, assuming I was his brother. It's possibly they have shared beds together, based on this. Possibly for a long time, growing up, but it doesn't seem like it's happened recently.'

And Cas wanted to kiss him so bad when he was turned around and talking and crying, wanted to throw himself around Sam and kiss away tears and smash their lips together and end up on his dick again, like forever, all morning. He'd wanted it in the kitchen too.

'Sam stayed for breakfast, which I made. We certainly overstepped some boundaries that night, and a little in the morning, but we parted on a good note and tomorrow is our usual scheduled session.'

At the door, Cas wanted Sam to shove him up against it, and he probably could, and wrap his arms around him and his legs and bury himself in Sam's shoulder and breathe it in and tell him he was good and perfect and _Dean who? fuck Dean there's me, there's me._

He came, grunting _Sam, Sammy_ , one hand still on the mouse and he wasn't even watching porn.

Fuck. What a mess.

Cas stuck still in some comfortable shame spiral when the phone rang. Business phone. He wiped the jizz off his hand and cleared his throat and answered; anything to distract him.

“Hey, uh, I've never called a...head doctor before.” Low voice, not unlike his own, deep and growling and this hint of amusement? Nervousness? Something. “But my brother's been seein' you and he's doing pretty good so...”

Trailed off.

Cas's head spun.

_My brother._

Please no, it was already messy sticky dirty enough. He'd mired himself in enough fucking trouble without this.

“Are you saying you'd like to make an appointment?” Cas's mouth went dry, sandpaper crackle. Big puff of a sigh on the other end, safely ensconced in the black phone but still dangerous just by virtue of what was happening.

“Uh...yeah. I think so. I mean. What's an appointment entail?”

“Talking. You can talk about anything you'd like. Things that are bothering you or that have in the past Feelings, specific events.”

“What about, uh, like...what do they call it? Cognitive therapy?”

Cas held his breath and tried not to let it all out in a rush. “That is probably my specialty. If anything is, at least. You said your brother sees me?”

“Yeah. Sam. Sam Winchester?”

“Sam,” Cas repeated, licked at his lips. _Yes, I know Sam. Sam's the reason my dick's hanging out of my pants and there's two dirty plates from breakfast in the sink. Sam's the reason I'm reconsidering being a fucking therapist in the first place._ “It's wonderful that he referred you.”

No it's not. It's kind of a dick move. Actually.

“He just looks real good lately, y'know?”

_Um. Yeah._

“Like it's helping him. I dunno what the fuck he goes on about but...ah, sorry. Swearing, bad habit. Really rude. Sorry.”

“It's fine.” Cas flipped to the schedule on his desktop, scanned for open appointments. Too many. “If you have a specific time you'd like to come in, we can just have a consultation. No pressure, no commitments.”

“I mean, there's nothing _wrong_ with me.”

“I...didn't mean to imply there was?”

“No, no, you didn't. I'm just saying. Don't expect some juicy serial killer with repressed memories or whatever you shrinks get all wet about.”

“Okay,” Cas almost laughed; what the fuck. This was Dean? He sounded like a fucking asshole.

“Sorry, I didn't mean...how's Friday, 4, 5?”

“5 is fine. Your name is...?”

“You don't know? Ain't Sammy been talking about me? I'd be kinda disappointed if that's the case.”

“I really can't discuss that.”

Just say your name, _just say your name_.

“I'm Dean. Like you don't already know. Dean Winchester.”

“Dean, thank you. I have you scheduled. And I'll get your phone number from the call display, just so you know. Unless there's another number you'd rather I used?”

“Naw, that's fine. Just got the cell phone.”

“Perfect.”

“Friday at 5.”

“That's correct.”

Felt like Dean was waffling. Like he had something to ask, but. It never came. Instead, just, “Alright, doc, see you then.” and he hung up.

Doc.

Sam did that too.

Sam _referred his brother_.

Cas groaned and tipped his head all the way back, stared at the ceiling. He should have excused himself this morning. And he should definitely do it now. Definitely shouldn't have scheduled Dean since he'd never met the guy and he was already pissed off at him and definitely shouldn't be so fucking curious about what he looked like. Why Sam was in love with him.

He didn't quite see the appeal over the phone.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Wednesday dragged. Thursday dawned better, with an early-early morning stakeout and the knowledge that he'd be seeing Cas for the third day in a row. Sam Winchester didn't even see his neighbours that often. Certainly didn't see his brother that often.

Weird. Stuff was weird.

_Life_ was weird.

All morning tailing someone's wife, for instance. The guy, by all appearances, didn't even give a shit about his wife, unless she was cheating on him. And what's _cheating_ anyway? Half of his clients worried about it. And half of those usually hit the nail on the head. He wondered about the half that were wrong though; were they just making shit up? Looking for cracks in a solid foundation? Kicking at said foundation a bit to _make_ cracks? What was that like, being so utterly bored or vengeful or _whatever_ these saps felt, in what was probably a perfectly good relationship?

The jerks paid his rent. What a shitty collection.

Wifey, by the way, got up at 6am for a run. Sam tailed her not in his car, but jogged behind her. Forced slow pace because she dicked around with her phone as much as ran. Nice ass though. Round, bouncy, encased in pink spandex that matched her shoes. And her socks and her hair tie and her phone case. Still. That ass.

Long time since he'd been with a girl but he started thinking about it, watching her run. It wasn't hard to pick them up, if he wanted. Hell, a twist of his ankle he'd pick wifey up right here and now, just to see see if she took the bait. Make it actually worth his money. Might be a better business model.

Sometime during the jog, his mind drifted. Shifted. Still firmly on ass, but it was...Cas.

Cas-supposed-to-be-Dean and it kept switching in his mind. With his eyes shut, yeah, Dean. Juicy little ass, tight and sweet and completely just for Sam.

But sometimes? _Cas_.

And that was good too because he had this unexpectedly hot body. He ran, had to, because that ass, firm and sturdy, and his thighs, when Sam folded him in half? Christ. Intense thick. Cut. Didn't look like it under anything he wore but god, he was cut as hell.

And Sam was gonna see him again in like, six, seven-eight hours.

Wifey only went around the block, 23 minutes, back into the house. Sam ran past it, realized he'd spent the entire run thinking about his brother/his therapist/his brother, doubled back, hopped in the van. So, six twenty-three. Twenty four, twenty five. Nothing for an hour and a half. He followed her car. Dropped off a kid at school. Starbucks, strip mall, shopping bags. And home.

Eleven by then so Sam blew off. He only had an hour longer, hadn't slept great. Cas in mere hours. They'd talk about Tuesday.

Sam didn't know what to say. He showered, he thought about it. He stared in the mirror and thought about it. Combed at his long wet hair with his fingers. Didn't shave. Naw, it looked good, roughing up his face. Made him look older instead of tired and pale.

Driving over, he thought about waking up against Cas. He wanted it again, that warmth. He'd know it for Cas this time, if he stayed the night. Or...next time. Today was talking. Just talking.

He sat in the car and watched the numbers on the dash tick over. One-fifty. He was early. Early was worse because now he'd sit here and stare at Cas's house. Think about breakfast. Cas made him fucking breakfast. Good too. Solid food where he mostly made smoothies. Green and peanut buttery and they weren't bad but he liked he change.

Fuck it, he went in early. Stood at the door and stared before he knocked and it opened in a second. Flew open.

Cas.

Cas grinned. _Good_. Sam grinned back and stepped in right as Cas moved back. And back and back. Hand extended while he shut the door. “Hello, Sam,” so warm and genuine.

Sam felt something _twist_ in his chest and he darted for a hug instead, going in big arms first, maybe kind of scary but Cas just laughed against him and let it happen. _Good_.

“Hey, Cas,” he sighed out, pressed tight against him. Cas would tell him if it wasn't okay, and Sam wouldn't ruin it with _I missed you_ or _you smell good_ or anything. Cas had coffee waiting. Sam took the warm mug and walked ahead into the usual room.

He took the couch though, and toed off his boots and rearranged the pillows and flopped across, nestled in. No view out the windows like this. Cas's notebook perched on the edge of one of the arms again and he glanced at it, glanced at Cas, raised his eyebrows.

“Thank you, no,” Cas muttered, half-smiling, snapping the book up. Sam left him room on purpose and he took it, right beside him on the couch. This felt different. This felt good already. Better.

Riskier.

Sam liked that.

He sipped at his coffee and slung his long legs around towards Cas, dumping them in his lap, watching curiously. He didn't mean to be challenging but there were limits and he wanted to find them.

Cas stared. Stared and stared, so hard that Sam laughed and it only got worse once Cas looked at him all incredulous.

“Oh my god, I can move if you're actually offended but, come on. This is okay, right?”

Cas didn't say anything. Looked at his notebook and then back at Sam. Muttered, “Yes, Sam. It's fine.”

Sam shifted back a bit, moved off of Cas. Criss-crossed his long legs and muttered an apology. It wasn't fine, he could have just said so. Didn't have to placate him. The hug was probably enough and look, he'd found a limit.

“So, we should obviously address what happened on Tuesday.”

Sam nodded, but he shivered, even with the coffee warming his palms. Like, bad pit of his stomach feeling all of a sudden. Actually, kind of familiar.

“Right. Tuesday. Everything was okay, right?”

“Yes. Of course. Or else I would have halted it. I just mean...how do you feel?”

Everything wasn't okay: Sam was pretty sure the overnight hadn't been planned, nor the breakfast. The cuddling. Cas's actual room. But, whatever he wanted to play at.

“Good,” Sam answered, pursing his lips, thinking, nodding. “Yeah, good. It hasn't been that long, I mean I haven't had that much time to think it over but...it was a good...outlet. That's the word you were using, right? I mean, I needed that.”

Cas nodded, scribbled something down.

Sam licked his lips, swallowed. Dared, “It felt like you did too.”

He looked away though; couldn't watch Cas's face through it. He didn't want to see, nope. No. Probably bad, awful and bad.

“Is that how you feel?”

“It's how _you felt._ ”

“What do you mean?”

Sam felt the frown tugging at Cas's face hit him in the guts. “Um...maybe I'm transferring. You were like, my Dean-proxy so I think I'm just making things up. I think. That's a thing, right?”

“It is. It could be.”

Quiet.

“But, um, I did enjoy it. Professionally speaking.”

_Oh my god._ That kind of made it sound like Cas was a whore and Sam was a john and okay, maybe that wasn't far off since Sam was paying him. And fucking him. And his pride soared, goddamn, he couldn't help it.

“Well, I'm glad.”

“But you did feel okay afterwards? Besides...”

“Besides the next morning?” Sam finished for him, absently waving a hand. “Yeah. That was just...too much, I guess.”

“You shouldn't have stayed.”

“No, I know. Next time it'll be different.”

“Next time, I'll have more in the way of limits for us. It should make everything go more smoothly, so you don't have to worry about anything the next morning.”

“Look,” Sam sighed. “I'd never done that before, with anyone.”

Cas stayed quiet as expected, pen hovering over the notebook. “Which part do you mean?”

“The staying over part. Like, all night, breakfast in the morning? I always leave. Even with boyfriends.”

“I see,” Cas muttered, wrote some stuff in tiny exact strokes, dry scratching on the paper that seemed endless. Sam itched to read it. “So why stay this time?”

_Oh honestly.._ Sam fixed a glare at Cas and said, “I was waiting for you to ask me to leave. I figured you would. You had all these rules and stuff. It wasn't _that_ bad. Was it?”

Probably was, probably the whole thing was a chore so Sam regretted asking, looking into the dark depths of his coffee instead. Still steaming a bit in a whirling little fog that evaporated quicker and quicker the more he stared at it.

Cas stopped writing. Sighed audibly, set his pen down. Sam only caught it out of the sharp corners of his eyes. Cas ruffled up his hair and turned more towards Sam on the couch. Mouth hung open, nothing coming out for a while. Shrugging. “That got really out of hand,” he said, eventually.

Sam frowned, kept watch of his coffee. Even drank some. Just waited for Cas to go on; if you waited long enough, people would usually fill up the silence, even the ones who knew better.

“But there was nothing bad about it, in any sense, other than it being pretty unprofessional on my part. You're right, there were rules and there should have been more. So it was my fault. It was my fault you had the chance to feel bad the next morning.”

Sam could tell he wanted to say more, ask more, but it turned self-incriminating. Sam nodded, accepted that in the way of an apology, as if anyone needed one. They were fine.

“In the meantime, did you think about whether you'd like pursue more of that type of therapy?”

Jesus.

_Yeah, Cas, I want to fuck you a lot, everywhere. Want to pretend you're Dean and fuck the everloving shit out of you._

“Well...yeah. If you're okay with it.”

He had a fucking list.

“I am. Tuesdays, then?”

“Tuesdays.”

Therapy fuck date. That was great, that was awesome. Yeah, he could really get a lot of work done. Make some breakthroughs.

“Did that scenario make you feel anything in particular that you want to talk about?”

“Well. I mean. The dominant part was nice. I don't think it would be like that all the time but...sometimes, probably. So it was good to get it out. But it'd probably be a more even relationship.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, next time, I'd like to bottom.”

The side of Cas's mouth quirked up just a little bit and it almost made Sam smile. So inappropriate. What business did they have playing at this shit? Sam went further. Had to.

“It'd be my first time, so...”

He took a sick kind of delight in watching Cas's face react to that truth, eyes going a bit wide and going to watch his hands where they'd be on the notebook if he hadn't set it aside. Sam could literally see him concocting questions, passing them up, lining up the good ones until something won. “Have you been saving yourself for Dean?”

Sam snorted. “Yeah. Of course. And honestly, it'll be kind of good to give it up.”

“You're not obligated to.”

“I _know._ I want to. I'm probably not going to have a safe opportunity to do it. Like. With someone I trust, I mean.” Shy eye darting up and down at Cas that was completely genuine. By god he liked him so much, trusted him, even through all this craziness.

“I'm glad you trust me, Sam. It's important to me.”

And just like that, Cas reached out, shy fingertips covering the distance and his body moving over right after, getting in Sam's space, his hand on Sam's leg. Jammed up against his crossed limbs and the sweetest goddamn look on his face. Professionalism. Right. Sam felt like that had gone out the window pretty fast, but he didn't care either. Cas's hand rested warm on his leg, staying respectfully above his knee. But he sat full body close.

Sam twisted and set the coffee on the end table and untangled his legs and hauled Cas up against him, back to chest. No resistance, not even when Sam rested his chin on Cas's head. Wrapped his arms around his waist.

They talked a lot after that, but Sam later, Sam couldn't remember what about. The usual stuff, but that included Cas's perfect smell under his nose and the tension in his abs when he laughed under Sam's fingertips through a thin shirt.

This was therapy.

* * *

 

Dean took the whole day off work because he didn't know how this would go. He woke up thinking about it. What the hell was it gonna be like, sitting in a room with some dude he didn't know, being asked invasive questions? Being expected to answer them like an actual person with feelings? He wanted a drink already. Just thinking about it made him want a drink. Or six. But then he'd say too much and end up in a whole other shitstorm.

So he fixed up stuff around the house. The squeak on the stairs? Dean pried the old floorboards up and worked his magic, tacked the old things down again and no squeak. Yeah, take that. He even bounced on it for five full minutes and it was still quiet.

Dean hadn't had a day off in a long time.

Backyard raked and the paper bags of leaves lined up neatly at the curb. Lunch. He had a leftovers and a beer, so sue him. One, and then two but that was it. Okay, three. But he had some water after, before he drove to the therapists.

Ugh. Just thinking that gave him weird feelings. He had to keep his eye on the prize, which was the newly serene look in Sam's eyes. He didn't know exactly when his little brother started looking so casually troubled; clearly he got used to it through the years because now, it was like someone not completely but a little different. Good different. Almost happy.

Being jealous about _almost_ happy struck him as kind of sad.

And that he was sitting buzzed in his car in front of one of those gorgeous old Victorians waiting to _talk_ to stranger about _feelings_ , well, that was another special kind of sad. He was already late, maybe he should just blow off altogether.

But. There was this deep creepy part of him who wanted to see the guy Sam was unloading on. Sam said he was kinda hot, right?

So late, he finally got out of the car and sauntered up the path to the door, sunk down flat stones in the lawn flanked by good, natural landscaping, local plants, bird-attracting trees and whatnot. Dean knew all this stuff, spent most of his free time around the house so you got to knowing. Just another suburban money sink but he liked it. Maybe this guy did too.

_This guy_ was waiting at the door; it pulled open just as Dean jogged up onto the porch and _this guy_ was raised eyebrows over the darkest blue eyes, and instead of looking expectant or pissed off or whatever stern schoolmarm crap Dean expected, he looked kind of soft, concerned but not in an obtrusive way. It made Dean slow his roll up to the door, but then _this guy_ stuck his hand out and Dean had to be polite, rushing forward to take it.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Dean,” Dean supplied, seamlessly, stupidly. There was a blast of warm air from in the house and he grabbed onto the hand a little more firmly, realizing the extent of his nerves. Not used to that. Shit.

“I'm Cas Novak.”

“You mean, Doctor Cas Novak, don't sell yourself short.” Dean did his charming smirk designed to throw people off but wow, not Cas. He just smiled, nothing more than polite and dropped his hand from Dean's, gestured him inside.

“Well, thank you. You can follow me,” he spun and started walking. Not very far, side hallway into a big conservatory. That's what they used to call those things.

“Aren't you gonna call me out for being late?” Dean said, standing in the doorway, taking the room in. It was literally like being outside except warm in the November chill and there were chairs and a couch and pillows fucking everywhere. And more plants and throws and it should have looked busy and uncontrolled but something tied it all together. It wasn't the sort of room Dean would usually like but...it worked for him. He gave a little approving shrug, unasked for, and moved into the big room.

“First time clients are often late. And you expressed reservations on the phone, so I'm not going to 'call you out'. I might ask why you were late, when you were obviously parked across the street for twenty minutes. Sit where you'd like,” Cas pressed this notebook to his chest, this cheap ass spiral bound high school thing. “I can get some water while you get comfortable? Or coffee? You don't look like tea.” He added, after some hesitation but with a little smile on his wide lips.

Dean tried the couch, joked, “Beer?” While he moved some pillows around.

“I'll get water,” Cas answered, dry, and disappeared a minute.

Very funny.

Dean tried comfortable but no matter how nice the stuff was, he couldn't make it work. He wondered where Sam sat. Same place every time? Or different places? Did he stare at his shoes or look out the windows? _What the hell did he tell Cas?_

And Cas, god. Not what he'd call Sam's type, from the bare little he knew about his brother's romantic life. He knew there were a couple boyfriends he'd never met, and he always pictured them in vague unimpressive ways, lumps of meat that couldn't possibly be good enough for Sam. And clearly they weren't, since they never stuck around more than a few months. Was _that_ what he talked about?

Dean frowned to himself, swinging his legs up onto the couch so he was laying like they were in a movie. That made it easier, pretending at some 80s movie, seeing his pushy analyst. No one called themselves _analysts_ anymore. Must be a dying art. Maybe he'd ask.

He shoved his hands behind his head and stretched out further, not bothering to take off his boots. Cas probably had people clean the couch on the regular, to blast off the snot and shattered dreams and buckets of tears.

Did Sam cry?

Why did he even _care_?

“Alright, Dean,” Cas slipped back in, two waters, two empty mugs, a carafe of coffee, clattered everything down beside him. Dean wondered if he smelled the beer on him. Probably. “I'm ready if you are.” Cas sat so he could see Dean and Dean kind of wished he hadn't; if he looked down the line of his reclined body, he could see Cas, plain as anything, that placid little smile and a couple days rough stubble, big stormy eyes and the messed up hair. _Okay, stop perving on the therapist._

“Sure, doc, what d'you wanna know?”

“Well,” Cas consulted the cheap notebook on the arm of his chair and narrowed his eyes a little, then squinted them at Dean. “Is there anything in particular you wanted to address? Questions about your behaviour or any clear reasons why you've come to see me?”

“Aren't you supposed to ask like, did you wet the bed on the regular or torture cats or shit like that?”

“No,” Cas drawled out, long and a little amused, actually the tiniest bit of a smirk on his face. “Are you going to take this seriously?”

“Maybe. Gimme a couple minutes to work all the bullshit out, alright? It's just how I operate.”

“So you're aware you're trying to deflect.”

“Yep. Painfully aware.”

“And you're still doing it.”

“What can I say, I'm a piece of shit.” Dean meant it as a joke but it never really landed because Cas raised his eyebrows and looked at him, shrunk him down to some tiny little childlike thing, like they actually were some 80s movie trope. Jesus Christ. Dean clamoured to fill the momentary quiet. “Alright, hey, that was a stupid joke, you don't need to write anything down or ask me about it or - “

“Dean,” Cas broke in, kind of rude, _oh my god, who does he think he is_? “Do you actually think you're a piece of shit?”

“I mean,” Dean muttered, crossed his arms over his chest and turned his head, looking out the window, out at the front yard at a pine with three birdfeeders and a squirrel perched and gnawing at something, it's tail flashing excessively. “I mean, I'm not _not_ a piece of shit.”

“So tell me about yourself.”

Shit. He didn't want to joke anymore, suddenly. And he had like, eighteen thousand jokey answers for that question but something jerked inside of him for a minute. He didn't actually have to put on a show if he didn't want to. He didn't have to game Cas. Or...he could still game Cas and still use this time wisely and yeah, that'd show him, that'd show everyone. No one. Whatever.

“I dunno what to say. I got a garage, I mean, own it. Classic cars. Well. It was supposed to be but market's small so that's what I specialize in, but we got these young kids doing customs. All kinds of plastic and shit, I dunno. Makes money.”

“So you own your own business, that's a big job.”

“Well, kinda. I'm not an _idiot_. I got guys to do all the shit I can't, got a couple receptionists, a crew that travels to those shows and stuff. End of the day, there's not that much for me to do, most of the time.”

“Do you have hobbies?”

“Work on the house. Always stuff to do there. Big backyard, kinda like yours. Which, by the way, this is beautiful, the whole property and the kinda....laissez-faire landscaping? Really dig it. This all you?”

“It is. It's a good way to pass the time, isn't it?”

“Yeah, beats livin' in some square apartment without anything to do. That's just askin' for trouble. I told Sammy, you got a goddamned suitcase full of disposable income, get a _house_ , stop wastin' your money on rent, but nope, he's got this – wait, am I allowed to talk about Sam?” Dean raised an eyebrow at Cas, noticed the furious scribbling and the sharp halt.

“Of course,” Cas frowned, but he frowned at the notebook instead of at Dean. He didn't even look at Dean. “Why wouldn't you be?”

“Well, he's a patient - “

“Client - “

“Seriously? Why not patient?”

“It's...legal. It's basically just semantics at the end of the day but I prefer clients. Patients...” Cas did look up then, squinting thin at Dean, “Patients implies there's something actually _wrong_ , there's some illness that needs to be cured.”

“Ain't that the case?”

“No. Unless there's something you have to tell me about your mental health.”

“Nah. But don't you see people that have like, actual mental problems?”

“Sometimes. Most people just come to talk or work through things, feelings, memories that are stopping them from living presently.”

“So what's Sammy talk to you about?”

Cas's eyes widened and he looked away, his mouth going to a firm line and Dean wondered what the hell _that_ was all about. He snorted out a laugh though, waved his hand.

“Just kiddin', Doc. I know you can't talk about that stuff. And you're not gonna talk about _my_ stuff with him, correct?”

“Absolutely correct.”

“Alright then. Cause, honestly, besides his little breakdown and quickie career change a couple years ago, I think Sam's doing alright for himself. He won't tell me what he talks about with you and I was thinkin' it was some like, actual definite problem? Like maybe something happened that I didn't know about? But...way you tell it, seems like people just come to yak, right? So that actually makes me feel better, y'know? Makes me less worried about my kid brother.”

“You worry about him a lot? Even now?”

“Well...yeah,” Dean answered, and, like, what a stupid question. “You got brothers?”

“Five.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I just got the one,” Dean said, nodding to himself, shoving his arms behind his head again, tracing the lawn, finding all the flower beds with his eyes and wondering what they'd look like in the summer. Would he still be coming here in the summer? “And I spent my whole life worrying about him so I can't just throw a switch and turn it off.”

“Even though he's an adult?”

“Especially now he's an adult. Like...I said he was doin' okay, and he mostly is. And I can't judge and I shouldn't but I kinda figured he'd be settled down by now. Which is ridiculous because I'm older and I should be doin' that first but he always seemed like the settling down type.”

“What defines that type?”

Dean actually felt like that was some sick kind of quiz for a moment. But, he didn't think, he just opened his mouth and whatever came out came out. “Kinda needy. Not bad needy, but like...like a little puppy, y'know? When we were little...shit, I'm sure he told you some of this crap so I can just summarize, right?” Didn't wait for an answer, Dean just plowed ahead. “Shitty childhood, no stability, fucked up Dad, mom's gone, poor as shit. So we drove around, we'd stay somewhere for a few weeks until we wore out the welcome or Dad's contracts were done or whatever. Just me an' Sam and I had to do it all and, y'know, money was tight so we pretty much shared a bed until we were like...well, until I could raise my own funds and get us our own room. But I mean, we were joined at the hip and sometimes I think that made him kinda...needy. Overly needy.”

“Needy as in...affectionate?”

“Well, yeah, but beyond that. Like affection _starved_.”

“And you think that happened because of your upbringing?”

“Yeah. But, funny thing, he didn't even have a boyfriend until he went away to college. He was such a sweet, handsy kid, I figured he'd get a run going through high school or fuckin' junior high even but...nope.”

Dean paused; why, on earth, was he talking so much about his kid brother? Why was Cas letting him? Did Cas just want the dirt on his brother or what? Oh my god and...what did Cas know of all those one-bed nights, all the room-sharing? Dean hadn't even thought of it in years but now...and had Sam talked about it? Did Sam even remember? Dean stared at Cas and tried to decipher what he knew. But his expression was unchanged, his eyes sweeping from the notebook to Dean with alarming rhythm. God, he was good.

“Hey, stop me if you've heard this before, Doc.”

“Again, I can't comment on that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean grumbled.

“But I can say that it looks like you feel guilty about how your brother is now – or how you see him now, at least.”

“I guess.”

“We can talk more about you, if you'd like.”

“Not really,” Dean snorted out, frowning a bit. He sat up and worked himself over to the side of the couch near the side table, with the coffee. Poured some. A dull ache replaced his little afternoon buzz, everywhere, his head, his chest everywhere. “But I guess that's what I'm payin' you for.”

“So, you expected your brother to have settled down by now. Have you settled down?”

Dean sipped at the coffee, didn't mind that it scalded his tongue. He deserved it for all the flapping about Sammy. “Nope, I have not.”

“Any steady relationships?”

“Well, sometimes I spend a whole _weekend_ with a girl.”

“Any longer than that?”

“Nah. Not worth it.”

“Not worth what?”

“I dunno. Trouble? All the talking. About feelings, thoughts, some vague future. Kinda not into that.”

“I can tell.”

“Heh. You know, you're not so stuck up as I figured you'd be. So how about you, doc? You got a wife, three kids, PTA meetings?”

“Ah, no.”

“Just you? In this great big house?”

“You realize you're - “

“Deflecting again, yup.”

“You don't want to talk about why you haven't had a relationship? By your age - “

“Callin' me old?”

“ - Most adults have had at least one major relationship.”

“I'm fine, I just do not need that shit in my life.”

“Everyone needs - “

“So I pick up, if I get lonely. It's not hard.”

“How often would you say you pick up?”

“I dunno,” Dean shrugged; this had kinda gone off the rails and he felt trapped, nowhere to go, like a zoo animal in this stupid glass cage , like he had to pass a fucking test to get out. “Couple times a week. Whenever I feel like it.”

“Bars?”

“Yeah.”

“You - “

“I drink a lot, yep, yeah, you got me, doc. Three beers before I got here, I started at noon 'cause I took the day off. But no, I don't drink at work, but yeah, come five, I blow off and I get tanked, like six days outta seven. Great job, you wrung it outta me.”

“I see.” Cas drawled and wrote.

And Dean felt angry-sad all of a sudden, like what right did he have to be peering into Dean so hard? What was he writing down? Dean paid him for this shit? For this fucking interrogation?

“If you're writing down anything other than 'high-functioning alcoholic', I'm gonna need to know about it.”

“Then that's exactly what I was writing down. When did you start drinking?”

“Aw no, c'mon, we don't need to keep harping on this. It's really not a big deal. I got a job, I got money, my house, I'm in a good place and don't make me start second guessing _that_.”

“You have no personal relationships to speak of - “

“I see Sammy once, twice a week. Burgers sometimes, or we get blasted and play pool, darts, shit like that. So don't tell me there's no relationships.”

“Okay, you have _one_ personal relationship and it's with your brother.”

“I'm cool with the guys at work too. We hang out.”

“Fair enough.”

“Y'know,” Dean muttered, sipping hot coffee, mumbling mad and not sure where the hell this was headed next. He wanted to leave, felt itchy to stomp right out the door and slam it and put a cheque in the mail and never ever cross this doorway again. And drink himself to a lonely death in his big empty house. Sure, he had a vegetable garden and a beautiful pristine deck and squeaky clean windows, but...he _did_ want someone to share it with. Didn't he?

Fuck.

Where the fuck did his game go? He wanted it back.

“We can move onto something lighter.”

“No,” Dean grumbled, “No, I mean, you're right. I mean, okay, maybe not right, but you've probably got a point.”

“About?”

“Aw fuck, you're gonna make me say it? You like that? Forcin' poor defenceless guys to admit all their fuckin' shortcomings? You get off on that?”

“Dean - “

“Sorry, okay, yeah, I should have some kind of _personal relationship_ with a person who isn't a logo a whiskey bottle or with someone who ain't my blood relation or whatever. And I don't, and apparently now it's a big fucking deal.”

“You're angry.”

“Oh, yeah, super perceptive, doc.”

“It's not out of the ordinary to be angry when we're experiencing personal revelations.”

“Revelations, huh? So what's mine?”

“That you really are lonely, I suppose.”

“I knew that one already, thank you very much. Hit me again, doc.”

“Do you maybe feel like you don't deserve a relationship?”

“Or maybe I just haven't met the right person, you consider that?”

“Person?”

“...Yeah.”

“Not _woman_ or _girl_?”

“Oh Jesus fucking Christ, doc, what now?”

“Just the phrasing. Was interesting.”

When Dean looked at him again, he smirked and it actually made Dean smile. “You're fucking with me.”

“Not at all.”

“Yeah, yeah you are. Lookit that face, that is the face of a man who is fucking with me.”

“If you ever find yourself in some kind of daydream where you're thinking about the future, about some sort of cozy home life, who do you picture with you?”

“Who says I think about that stuff?”

“I do. You _do_ , Dean.”

Shit.

“Alright, you got me there. I dunno.”

“Can you imagine that for me now?”

“What?” Dean set the coffee aside, frowned so deep it almost hurt. “You wanna play house or something?”

“No, I'd like you to relax, first of all.”

“Hey, you're the one serving up coffee.”

“ _Relax_ , Dean. Sit back and close your eyes.”

Dean sighed out of his nose and kept frowning, his hands balled at his sides and then...and then he took a deep breath and sighed again and tried his best to relax against the cushy couch. He let his eyes drift shut. Just for a moment. He might not let this happen. He hadn't decided yet. The nature noises outside were louder like that, as was Cas's breathing. He was really close all of a sudden, and their knees touched.

“So you're in your house. Maybe ten, fifteen years from now.”

“Jeez, so I'm an old man?”

“I don't think so, Dean.”

“I'd be like, almost fifty though.”

“That's not that old.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Dean.”

“Sorry.”

“Walk into your house, after work one day. Maybe it's November, like now. You can walk in to anything you'd like. Maybe it looks different, but it isn't empty, is it?”

Dean didn't like this. He did it but he didn't like it. When he walked into this imaginary dream house, it smelled different. Warmer, low glow of lights from the living room instead of nothing. And the kitchen – kitchen noises.

“No,” he muttered, scratching at his jeans, the noise unnervingly loud. “No, there's lights on and...people there. Or at least someone. Kitchen.”

“Go to the kitchen. Are they cooking? What does it smell like?”

It smelled like chili, vaguely like that stuff his dad used to call chili, at least, a kitchen sink stew of whatever sale beef he could find and cans of stuff and maybe some fresh veggies and spice, all cayenne and a pablano or two. Why was it so easy? To see this? He half-expected to see his father there and that was not something he expected to broach drift towards.

“Who's there, Dean? Who's waiting for you?”

Worse than dad. He crept in, in his mind of course, and at the stove, turned away, wide set of shoulders, too long hair, skinny little waist and legs. Grey t-shirt, jeans, no socks, turning around with a wooden spoon, dimpled grin and Dean flared his eyes open, swallowed hard.

Okay, one thing at a time.

“Dean?” Cas asked, lightly, daring his fingertips against Dean's leg.

Dean stared at them for a while, blinked back idiotic tears that thankfully didn't fall. “Well, it was a dude, so I hope you're happy.”

“Excuse me?”

“You got something real juicy outta me now, great job, doc.”

“You saw a guy. Any guy in particular?”

Dean forced out this rough bitter laugh and looked away. He wasn't gonna go there, not yet. Let the doc have one fucking breakthrough, he didn't need the whole thing right away. And anyway, it wasn't anyone in particular, Dean kept telling himself that. Wasn't. That was just the kinda guy his dick was into right now, the big meathead kinda guys.

“Nope. Just a guy.”

“Is that....are those feelings you've acted on before?”

Dean looked back over at Cas and narrowed his eyes.

_Game, play your fucking game, get your game back. Get the upper hand. Lie to the man who only wants to help you like you've fucking paid him to. Just lie, who cares?_

“Never,” he huffed out, made a show of swallowing hard, looking away shy. “I didn't even really...think about it.”

There was so much writing after that, a literal flurry.

“D'you...think I'm gay?” He asked, quiet and super, super sad.

“Not necessarily. You enjoy women, yes?”

“Um, yeah. A lot.”

“And...”

“Never been with a dude. Like I said.”

“But you don't feel like you could pursue a romantic relationship with a woman?”

“Well, I mean, I haven't met one yet.”

“But...with a man, do you think that'd something you could do?”

“Well I fucking didn't until now! Jesus, doc, what the fuck.”

“You might be bisexual, or heterosexual but homo-romantic.”

“Whoa, _what_?”

“Some people feel sexual attraction to a specific gender, but no romantic attraction. So, say, you might have sexual feelings towards women and men - “

“Whoa, hey, I never said that - “

“This is just an example, Dean. But then, you may only want to have a long term, romantic relationship with a man. Some people have no romantic feelings at all. Or no sexual attraction. It's really more varied than we think.”

“Well that is...more fucked up than I would like. So I might be gay.”

“No. Or maybe. You're the only one who can put a label to it, really. And you don't have to label it at all.”

“Okay,” Dean drawled, squirmed in his seat. The lying was easy, but, actually Cas was bringing up more questions than he'd like. So. He spent the rest of the session lying. Setting everything up. _Oh no what if I'm gay, oh no what if I like dicks_ , and on and on, with Cas managing pretty well. Ending with a promise to discuss _safe avenues of exploration_ on their next visit.

Dean walked outta there feeling about ten pounds lighter and with a renewed kinda purpose. Yeah. He was totally gonna dick his therapist.

* * *

 They were two pitchers in and stuff got messy. The table was _literally_ messy with napkins and discarded wings and the disco fries spillover and beer and condensation and Sam laughed at the look Dean gave it, disgusted, still laughing when Dean grabbed his arm and wheeled him towards the pool table in the back.

“Fuckin' carnage, dude,” Dean laughed and they started anew at a fresh table. Sam watched Dean chug down the rest of his beer, watched like a real creeper, like he'd never seen it before. But Dean's eyes closed so Sam got to refresh his memory of the plush lips and the bob of his throat and the wide, thick fingers curled around the glass. He hadn't felt such an intense stab of arousal for his brother in a long goddamned time. But it wasn't exactly accompanied with the usual sinking feeling. Interesting.

Dean, finished, thunked his glass back down and Sam poured him more without asking, filled his own glass back up and watched Dean rack the pool table.

“Saw your man yesterday,” he smirked, over his shoulder.

Sam frowned, beer-stupid. “My _man_?”

“Yeah, y'know. Doc Novak.”

_Oh. Oh god._ Sam half-thought there'd be some kind of moral issue in Cas taking on Dean. And actually, there probably was but Cas didn't seem to care about that kind of shit. Which was good or bad, he wasn't sure. But. Well. Whatever. Sam drank a bunch more.

“So how'd that go?” he asked, watched Dean break, watched the curvy little swell of his ass in his jeans when he bent over.

“Alright. I can see why you like him. He's not like mister stuffy with a suit and a tie and glasses and fuckin' presumptions or anything.”

“What did you talk about?”

Dean snorted out a laugh and spun around with the cue wrapped in his fist. “Are _you_ gonna tell me what you talked about with him?”

Sam rolled his eyes, grabbed a cue off the wall. “Fair enough.”

“And no, he didn't say anything about you either. Disappointed?”

“No. I'm glad he's a professional.” Sam missed his shot, totally distracted and just _this_ side of sloppy, just getting there. “I mean, I'm not even sure he should be seeing both of us. Doesn't it seem like some kind of conflict of interest?”

“Ph, I dunno,” Dean swooped in to shoot, sunk two, kept going, sprawling out fucking reverently across the table like the beginning of some porn. Fucking show off. “Figure if he wasn't supposed to, he wouldn't have. Y'know?”

“I guess,” Sam muttered, leaned back against the wall and watched Dean. Like, really watched Dean the way he only did after more than a few beers and when his back was turned. He'd shucked his jacket at some point, too hot for leather inside, so it was just his wide back, functional muscles popping and shifting under the army-green t-shirt. Same colour as his stupid eyeballs. Stupid Dean.

Stupid beautiful Dean.

Dean turned around and stared expectantly with his eyebrows shot up and the cue in his fist again and how was that so fucking suggestive? Sam cleared his throat and looked away and drank.

“Yeah, I dunno if you need any more, Sammy,” Dean laughed, smacking him on the back with his big warm hand and Sam wanted to arch into it, wanted it to never leave him, never. Just that little touch could keep him going. Weeks, days, whatever. “Gettin' kinda spacey.”

“I'm fine,” Sam rolled his eyes, peeled away back to the pool table. Sunk two, go again. One more. Dean's aggravated noise behind him made him grin. His face got hot, mind definitely a little spacey, wondering if Dean was checking him out. Stupid. He wouldn't be. Why would he be? He liked _girls_ , liked pretty little girls with bouncy asses and tiny waists and long dark hair and he'd seen that enough times to know.

Still. Before he shot, he glanced behind him and, yeah, no, Dean was _not_ looking at him. Dean was eye-locked at the bar, making his fuck-me face so good that Sam's stomach dropped out. He followed the gaze to the bar, expected some perky bartender or college girl but. But. Either Sam was way fucked up or Dean was making eyes at a guy.

Tall guy, wide shoulders, swoop of dark bangs across his forehead, leaning back against the bar. Iron jawed, steely eyed and definitely eyefucking Dean.

Sam missed his shot.

Dean slapped him on the back again, shoving him out of place. “Hey, last game and I'm gonna blow, that okay?” Dean sunk in three like nothing. Didn't look at Sam because he hadn't really been _asking_ him a question and Sam knew. Telling him. That he was probably going to go over there and chat up that guy. Telling him without telling him.

“Yeah,” Sam swallowed, thudded back against the wall. Drank. Refilled, drank. Watched Dean finish the game single-handedly with a shit eating smirk, turning around and spreading his arms wide.

“Sorry, man. Gotta practice more.”

“Do you know that guy?” Sam dared, leaned his cue against the table and watched it fall, didn't give a shit.

“What guy?” Dean asked, drinking, shrugging his jacket back on, very obviously trying not to look in the direction of the bar.

“Guy's been eyeing you for a while. You wanna introduce me?”

Maybe he just works with Dean, maybe he knows him from work or the neighbourhood or something, maybe this is just some stupid misunderstanding and -

“Nah.”

That was it.

Dean grabbed Sam's shoulder hard and smiled at him and took his glass and peeled away, said something like, _finish up the pitcher, it's on me, get home safe, nice seein' you_ , whatever whatever. It didn't matter. Dean wove through the crowd and ended up at the bar, back to Sam, side jammed into this _guy_. Handshake. Shared drinks – shots. Dean jerked his head towards the door and the guy's arm went around his waist and Sam sat and watched it. Surprised he wasn't bawling. But there really wasn't any feeling left, somehow.

It was just the weirdest thing.

Like. Maybe he was dead. Maybe he'd died while they were playing pool and this was the last pinpoint of light as all the oxygen left his brain. That would be a fitting death, anyway, watching Dean walk away with some guy.

But no, it was real. Bar was real. Half a pitcher of beer left was real. Sam finished it off, too fast. His stomach hurt. Everything hurt.

Would Dean fuck the guy in his precious car? Would they end up back at his house? Couch or bed? Or some frantic kitchen fuck over that nice island counter he helped Dean tile?

Sam walked home – stumbled more than walked, least an amble. Short fast walk in the chill that did nothing to sober him up. Kept thinking about _Dean_ and a _guy_. Jesus fucking christ, he had like, six years of watching Dean plow his way through every girl in the country and how had he never seen him with a guy? Did he even want to?

Yeah. He did. Was he less cocky with guys? Did he ever bottom? Once, he'd watched a girl get her middle finger up Dean's ass, watched him shoot all over her tits about it so maybe he liked it. Maybe he begged himself ragged before anything even got in there and wouldn't that sound beautiful? Kinda...felt familiar. Kinda felt like all he'd ever wanted.

Sam fumbled with the keys at his door, trying to ignore the burgeoning terrible conflicting hard-on in his pants that shouldn't rightfully be happening with all that beer.

And thinking _Cas_.

He tumbled in the vestibule, didn't wait for the elevator. Only a few floors, two at a time on stairs that seemed really uneven. Crashed through the too-well-lit hall to his door. Already taking his clothes off before the heavy thing closed behind him, already messing around trying to get his phone to light up. Contacts, unbuttoning his jeans. Let's see. He scrolled past C while he thumped down on the couch and kicked his pants off. D. D was just Dean. What if he called him now? Would he answer? Or would he have a dick down his throat?

_Oh god, his mouth_.

Dean's mouth wrapped around whatever monster dick that guy had, Dean on his knees begging for it. Dean sucking a million dicks that weren't his. Like, every other dick in the world. Why was it like that? How could it still hurt so much? His whole life and it still fucking bled.

_Cas_. He scrolled up and dialed and let his head fall back against the couch with the one hammed up to his ear.

Picked up right away with a concerned, rough, “Sam?”

Sam just grunted. Then, “Hey. Hey, Cas.”

Stupid tremor in his voice that Cas would hear right away because he picked up on everything forever and ever. Too smart. Sam wanted to hang up but, he was still hard, he was near tears, he kind of wanted to figure out some way to drown himself.

“It's late.” Pause. Sam didn't care about the time. “Are you okay?”

“Nope.”

“Sam...”

He sighed, stared at the gently tilting ceiling. “Okay, so, I'm probably pretty drunk. I was out. With Dean. And...and did he say anything, to you?”

“Sam, I can't even acknowledge that. At all.”

“Figured. 'S just...we were out and he picked up and he doesn't usually do that when we're out, y'know? Like...he blew me off. And I kinda wanna die about it? So...so there's that,” he forced out a rough laugh over the flurry of noises on the other end, rustling and moving and -

“I'm coming over. Are you home?”

“Yeah, no, you don't have to do that.”

“I do, I absolutely do, no matter how glib that suicidal ideation was.”

“Cas - “ it came out like a sob and why? Embarrassing. He didn't want to make a fuss. He just wanted to not have to deal with it. With anything anymore ever again. And now it was gonna be this whole big _deal_ and he had no protest left in him. He sighed and folded. “Yeah. Okay.”

“I'll stay on the phone with you. Get some water? Can you do that?”

“Don't really wanna move,” Sam confessed, head lolling towards the kitchen which seemed really, really far away. “Are you really coming?”

“I am getting in the car right now.”

“You know where I live?”

“You gave me your address when you called, before your first appointment.”

“Oh. Yeah. Forgot. Sorry. I'm sorry I called. Like, right now. I just...” He shut his eyes which made everything twist even worse, his gut, the room, his head. His throat clenched tight, and yeah okay, there were tears spiking in his eyes and it was the worst, it was the absolute worst. “I can't call anyone else. I don't...have anyone else.”

It was sadder saying it out loud than just thinking it.

“It's okay, Sam,” Cas said.

It _wasn't_. It was fucked up. And up until a few weeks ago, he hadn't even had Cas, just Dean and emptiness. Dean and work, Dean and the gym. Dean and aimless drifting purposeless existence. And now Dean was blowing him off and there was just Cas. Cas who he _paid_ to talk to, and to fuck, Cas speeding through the night to get to him even though he'd told him not to. What was that?What the hell were they now? Would anyone else – any other therapist – run to him like this? No. They'd call the cops. Put him on suicide watch, psych evaluation in a hospital, all that bullshit.

Fuck. Either he was lucky or everything was shot to hell if this was his life now.

Crying on the couch into the phone with a beautiful selfless man racing towards him.

“Sam? With me?”

“Yeah,” he sniffled.

What was Dean doing now? Dean wasn't crying, that was for goddamned sure.

“Are you in bed?”

“Couch. Just got in. Called you first. I'm sorry. Sorry for all this.”

“Don't be. I'm glad you called.”

“This is so fucked up.”

“It'll be okay. It'll pass.”

How could it though? When it'd been his whole life? What was he if not this sick knotted up pain?

“Yeah,” he mumbled. But he didn't believe it, and he didn't want it to leave. He'd be empty without that feeling and then he really might as well be dead. “You're too good, Cas. You're like...you're so good.” Crying again, surprised if Cas could even understand him through the big heaving sobs, more than he'd cried in a long goddamned time and at least it was over the phone so Cas couldn't really _see_.

Time went weird until Cas came through his door; had he buzzed in? Or what? Sam didn't know, just knew that there was phone-Cas, and then real-Cas walking in, in pyjamas and a big woolly sweater and Sam had never been so happy to see anyone in his life so why was he crying again? Why was he still here?

Then there was just Cas.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! This one was rough but the rest is smooth sailing. For me, I mean. Not for you, or those boys. Enjoy!

“I'm embarrassed,” Sam groaned from the hallway, dripping wet and hastily wrapped in a towel, hanging afterthought low on his hips.

Cas nearly dropped his fork.

Four, five hours ago, Sam was a crying snotty mess, stumbling drunk and the saddest thing on earth, and now, this beast slunk into the kitchen. “You don't need to be embarrassed,” Cas smiled easily and went back to the glass bowl of batter, thick, egg-yellow. Pancakes again with Sam.

“Well, I am, and I'm going to be so you're going to have to deal with it for a bit.” Sam plodded wet footprints in his wake, sighing himself down at the table. “I mean, I drunk-dialed my therapist, that's pretty embarrassing, Cas.”

“There are worse things.”

“Like?”

Cas smiled over the stove, threw a pat of butter in the cast iron pan and swirled it around, bare calloused hand grasping the heating handle no problem. He watched the slick smear start, tilting gentle down towards him, how the floor must have sloped imperceptibly towards Sam. Made sense. “Well, I can't think of any right now, but there has to be _something_.”

“Maybe the calling isn't even the worst part, maybe _this_ is.”

“This doesn't really feel bad.”

“No,” Sam sighed, “But I'm pretty sure it's not part of your job.”

Cas shrugged, only frowned because Sam couldn't see it with his back turned. Yeah, definitely not part of the job but what could he do? No, he knew what he could do, and should do, and they were vastly different from what he was actually going to do. He could admit that.

“My job is made of loose definitions anyway,” Cas said, a cop out and he knew it and he knew Sam knew it, but it didn't matter because he spooned pancake batter into the pan and watched the edges sizzle and he felt good. He'd helped Sam last night and now, he'd feed him. The veer off course towards something personal turned too sharp to stop.

“In that case, is there bacon? Coffee? Since I'm now defining being my cook as part of your job?” Sam sounded rough with hangover but still somehow adorable and jovial.

“Bacon,” Cas gestured to the square pan, lifted up the press, the classic cast iron pig shape, “I've never seen anyone else with one of these, by the way. You must be serious.”

“About bacon? Yeah. Hangover meets grease equals goodbye hangover.” Sam smiled just a bit, sprawling back against the wall in a chair that seemed way too small. But it's not like chairs had sizes so, this was a likely thing wherever he went. Cas wondered how he felt about it. He'd ask. “Coffee?”

“I couldn't find any kind of..thing?” Sounded stupid but Sam nodded knowingly and shoved up to his feet, tugging the towel up a big higher. Cas watched it slip down in slow degrees anyway while Sam moved around him, filled a kettle and set it on a back burner, behind the bacon. He smelled so good, fresh and clean, tanned everywhere, _everywhere_ , and Cas thought he might kill to watch that, some day.

Still staring at the softhard planes of Sam's stomach, the part his hipbones framed, when Sam swept away and crammed into Cas's other side. He reached up into a cupboard and Cas couldn't stop; water droplets from his hair, gathering on his shoulders and falling down his back. Screw the pancakes, Cas wanted to get shoved up onto the counter, wanted those arms folding him up into pieces and making him scream.

“French press, see?” Sam waved it in his hands, some glass and metal apparatus, and Cas darted his eyes back over, guilty but Sam didn't say anything. Bless him. “I'll show you.”

_In case it happens again_ remained unsaid but felt in the held eyes, in Sam's gaze flickering away.

Quiet breakfast, Sam still in the towel and all manner of distracting. The coffee tasted admittedly better for the fancy press Sam had explained. Maybe Cas'd get one for his place. Totally not for Sam. Nope.

“Whenever you'd like to talk about last night,” Cas started, sliding his plate away one-fingered, admiring the artful carnage of pancake remnants and sticky maple syrup pools.

“Well, it's Tuesday,” Sam answered, still eating.

“I thought it might be more constructive if we talked instead of...” Cas didn't mean to trail off but it happened and he frowned.

“Could we do both?” Sam thankfully interrupted.

“We could,” Cas answered careful, slow, scraping his chair back and considering Sam over the coffee. Cas had no other appointments today, just the Sam one for the evening that required his full, undivided attention.

“Ready when you are,” Sam said around a mouthful, face lit up earnest, maybe even a little hopeful? Is that was that is? Eyes gone bright again, especially in the white white room, in the crisp new morning. “Or d'you need your stuff?”

“My stuff,” Cas repeated, smirking, rolling his eyes. “No, I can get by without my _stuff_.” And he could, but the crutch of the missing notebook made him squirmy, a little unfocused. And, well, he was still in pajamas, in Sam's kitchen, on the most maddeningly familiar terms he'd had with any client. He shouldn't conduct himself like this. “So, last night. What upset you so much about what Dean did?”

Hard to get out and it shouldn't be, but it made him fucking angry that Sam felt any of that, that he was in this position to hurt so bad.

“He doesn't pick up,” Sam started, seamless, still picking at his food, “I mean, when we're out together, when it's just us? That's like, sacred bro time. He just...doesn't pick up.”

“Has it always been that way? It's something you decided on specifically?”

“Nah, we didn't decide on anything.” Sam watched his fork pushing around pancakes, getting them to the edge of the plate and back, creating little barricades. “Since I went to college, we started doing this. Our little...meet ups or whatever, I don't know what to call 'em. Maybe the first time we got together, he picked up. That was years ago though, and, uh...it doesn't really count. Cause it was a threesome?”

Sam winced it out and Cas's fingers waggled itchy to write something down, anything.

“You and him and?”

“Just some random girl.”

“Had you planned on that?”

“Nope. I knew he was gonna visit. I was excited, it'd been something like eight months. Since I'd seen him.”

“That's a long time.”

“Yeah, well. He was pissed at me.”

“For?”

“College.”

Cas watched Sam's throat bob in a hard swallow, watched him set the fork down gentle and mess with the towel still slung around his waist. He reached for the coffee again.

“He was angry because you went to college?”

“Not really. I mean, yes. But no. I haven't really figured out how to tell you this without me sounding like a total douchebag.”

“I won't judge, Sam.”

“I know.”

But it was still a while before he started again.

“So, Dean had this plan. After I finished high school, we'd do a road trip. For a year. Him and me and wherever we wanted to go. No Dad hauling us places, no answering to anyone. He told me when I was a freshman that that's what we were gonna do.”

“Did you want to?”

“Please, Dean coulda said we were gonna Bonnie-and-Clyde across the whole eastern seaboard and I woulda been on board. I was just a kid and I was so _so_ stupidly in love. I would have done _anything_.”

“And fast-forward to senior year?”

“Exactly. Still stupid in love but it was different by then. Hard and awful. I hated him as much as I loved him, you know? And all these teachers and shit, everyone just shoving college applications and essays and talking about my test scores and it was like, oh my god, this a way out. I can be normal. I can see if it goes away. Cause...cause I really wanted it to go away.”

“That's understandable.”

“So I did it in secret. All the applications and everything. As much as I could, at least, but I think he knew anyway. I'd say like, oh, I have to do it for english, it's for extra credit, all kinds of shitty lies.”

He still felt bad about them, Cas could tell from the frown-lines, from the absent fingers picking up dabs of syrup, cleaning them off. With no real window to look out of, Sam was still desperate for distraction.

“Spring came and I got nothing back. I mean, these teachers had basically assured me I was a shoe in, and just nothing came. All my friends got theirs, rejections, acceptance, all kinds of drama about safety schools and couples being split apart and last summer plans. I was trying to figure out another way out. Peace corps or the fucking army or just running the fuck away one night, hopping a bus to anywhere. Nowhere. Somewhere it'd be just me and I could sort my shit out.”

“It was that bad, with Dean?”

“Cas, it was the worst. That was like, the apex of bad. He was all I thought about. And he was always there, right there in my face tweny-four-seven. Bringing in this endless stream of girls for me to watch. Plus the usual stuff. I felt like I was gonna lose my mind.”

“You ended up at college though. So...what happened?”

Sam frowned deep, jaw clenched under stubble, shoved himself back against the wall. His whole body tensed and deflated beautifully, sadly, terribly.

“Idiot that I was, I used our rental address for all the applications. I coulda used the schools, got a PO box, used a teachers, anything else.”

“Dean saw.”

“Dean fucking intercepted them. Each and every one while maintaining the status quo. I didn't suspect anything. Then I come home one day and there they were, five acceptance letters lined up on the kitchen counter. Cause I made sandwiches when I got home, right? So he knew where to put them. And he was there waiting for me to see it.”

Deceptions on deceptions and lies and lies and god, how entwined. How horribly entwined they both were.

“I was...I was really, really happy,” Sam said, but he looked miserable admitting it. Voice gently cracking around the edges, eyes downcast. “I couldn't stop smiling.”

“Did Dean say anything?”

“I don't now. I can't remember, to be honest. There was just _so_ much happening and my face _hurt_ from grinning. Stanford, Brown, anywhere I wanted basically. Everywhere. It was all right there and I looked at Dean and I probably looked fucking nuts. And. I mean, he might have said something. I'm sure he did. Mostly I just remember him, uh, crying. He didn't really...do that. So. Yeah.”

Sam sounded even rougher for that admission. It was a terrible thing to hold, to have to discuss. Fragility of idols and all the dirty messy lies that piled up and up until they fell.

“Honestly, I'd never...never seen him like that. He bolted to the bedroom and I went after him. I remember telling him I was sorry, like, over and over. That I had to. I did. I had to, Cas.”

“I know,” Cas nodded at Sam's sullen explanation, wished they were closer so he could reach out, grab his hand or tuck under his chin, wrap himself all around Sam and make it stop.

“Anyway,” Sam cleared his throat for all the good that did, “He, uh, kinda lost it for a bit. After that.”

“Lost it?”

“Stayed in bed. For like, a week. Maybe two. Lost his job. Didn't talk to me. Barely even looked at me. If I hadn't...hadn't made him eat and stuff, I dunno. I dunno what would have happened. Then one day I came home from school and he was up and fine, showered and sparkling and business as usual. And we didn't talk about it. I managed to defer to a community college and busted through pre-law crazy fast. Then, California.”

“Did he ever ask you to stay?”

“Nah. I mean, we _literally_ did not talk about it. He drove me to the fucking bus station and we still didn't talk about it. He gave me that stupid fucking necklace and I told him I loved him and he just left me there. Without a word.”

Cas wanted to dive right into _that_ , wanted to situate himself back in time at that fucking bus station and watch this, watch fragile little Sam and big bad terrible Dean. _Save it for later._

“We took a detour, but I think we're at the right place now?”

“Yeah,” Sam grumbled, shadow passing his face, big hands working through his slick hair. “Kinda had to explain why we were basically radio silence for a while there. I'm gonna put some pants on first. You can come.”

No passing that up; Cas followed down the short hall, marvelled at Sam's back, at how mere hours ago, he'd had Sam tucked up beside him, crashing into walls while he ferried him to bed. And now he seemed an almost completely different person. The amount of compartments, of places for stowing things away, must be exhaustively massive. Cas perched at the foot of the bed, trying not to look like he was looking intensely hard at Sam finding clothes, but the towel dipping just under the dimples in his back, just resting over the tiny tight swell of his ass made him forget. Too easy to forget.

“So, college. Anything you want to talk about with that, besides our main storyline?”

“Nah. It was college. It was scary and then it wasn't.”

“And Dean?”

“Called me off and on. Drunk dialing mostly, but me too sometimes. Then one day, he called before I was even out of bed to tell me he was visiting like, that night. It was a Wednesday. It'd been months and I freaked out, but it was exciting. Plus, I was like, three inches taller which meant he had to stop ignoring the fact that I was definitely bigger than him. And I had an apartment to show off. I was excited, y'know?”

“Of course,” Cas tucked his legs under himself and watched Sam move around the room, back to him, gathering up jeans, shirts, haphazard and distracted. He glanced behind himself, eyes shyly meeting Cas's and darting away before he dropped the towel. Blush evident in his neck, up to his ears; enchanting.

“So, Dean shows up and I remember, I flung the door open so hard, it cracked the wall. God. I stood there all big and shit and he just smacked my chest, barely looked at me and shoved in, said 'Jeez, this place is a shithole, where's the bar?' and it was like nothing happened.” Only half-dressed, just tight boxer-briefs and a v-neck, Sam sat down beside Cas, sides jammed together, sighing. “I just stared at him the whole night. I kinda thought like, maybe if I didn't see him every minute of the day, I'd fall out of love. Or something. But nope. If anything, it was worse. He didn't say anything if he noticed. Or maybe he was just used to all the creeping. I dunno. So we're drinking, and he just stares right at me, does this searching _look_ and asks, 'Blonde or brunette?' and I had no idea what he was talking about. He elaborates, 'pick one, Sammy. We're gonna take a girl home.' I said blonde, and he provided.”

Cas swallowed too hard, licked is lips too nervously and tried not to think about that lucky, lucky girl wedged between two monsters with exquisitely full coffers of sexual tension. Must have been awful for Sam. Must have been amazing.

“So you had a threesome.” Cas croaked out the obvious, twisting his head to look at Sam, to follow his gaze towards the floor and then back up again. “How was that?”

“Amazing. Weird and amazing and I'm not even into girls, not _really_ , but god, she was hot and just up close watching Dean with all his...tricks and stuff? Like I knew his moves like the back of my hand, so to speak, and getting to be part of that? Yeah. Incredible.”

Cas saw Sam going there in his face, eyes darting off to the side, brow creased so his forehead stood out in lines at the center. So thoughtful. “Nothing happened, though? Did you discuss that beforehand, any kind of rules or - “

“Nope. I don't know what woulda happened if she asked us to kiss or rub dicks or something. Maybe that would have been okay, you know? If it was someone else directing it? If it was _for_ someone else? I really wanted her to ask. But she didn't, and Dean left before I even woke up and then the girl did too, and it was kind of like it hadn't even happened. Then he calls and says he's coming next weekend. I figured more of the same. But...no. After that, it was just us.”

“Sacred bro time,” Cas echoed and Sam nodded. “Ten years of sacred bro time, actually. I think it's perfectly understandable why you were upset last night, Sam.” Cas dared his hand on Sam's thigh, near the knee, and Sam hunched down immediately to let his head fall against Cas's shoulder. Damp hair, clean smells, warmth, so much warmth. The most.

“There's something else though.”

“Is there?” Cas asked, absently, far too distracted. Again, always.

“Last night, Dean, uh, he picked up a guy.” Sam sounded like the worst case of dry mouth when he said it and Cas felt it too, sandpaper tongue too big for his mouth.

Funny just how fucking _unfunny_ that was, how much blame Cas threw onto himself already for _that_. For Dean picking up a guy. Right in Sam's face. Not that it was Dean's fault, because somehow, some fucked up way, he didn't even _know_. Didn't know about Sam and apparently didn't know where his proclivities lay. Of all the fucking nights, why'd he have to do it to Sam?

“Ah,” Cas said, too late and too little. He was still in pajamas and Sam wasn't even dressed and was Dean slow-crawling himself awake in some stranger's bed? He'd hear about it, if he ever saw Dean again. And he'd have to sit there and be stoic and pretend like it hadn't just ruined Sam's life so completely while he asked Dean how it felt, _how did it feel, what did you think, will you do it again? Would you do it to your brother? How can you not?_ “I'm sorry, Sam.”

“Yeah. So I'm officially the least desirable person on the planet, apparently.”

“You're _not_ ,” Cas told him, right away, easily slinging his arm around Sam's broad shoulders, slipping his hand into Sam's damp hair, brushing against his face.

“I know. I know he doesn't even like, see me like that. As an option. It just felt awful. Like...like he'd do that with anyone else in the world besides me. Also, I probably shouldn't have sat there and watched him take the guy home.”

“Probably not,” Cas mused but easily understood. “But you're used to watching him. Or were, at least. Even under terrible conditions, it's probably hard to stop that.”

“The dude kinda looked like me too, and I wanted to watch everything,” Sam said, louder, less sad, sitting up again but still close, shoulders jammed together, every breath evident. “Makes me wonder if I'm always going to feel that. Or if it's just because it's so in my face lately, with talking about it, and that's what fucked me up.”

Cas was still knuckle deep in Sam's hair, borderline obsessed with it, with the tilt of Sam's head back against his hand.

Sam tipped his head towards Cas and his shy little smile was the most beautiful thing to behold, quietly insistent and hopeful and to see _that_ on Sam's worn face after such a night? After all of this? “But, uh, but then you came and kinda...saved me.”

“I didn't,” Cas breathed out, too quiet, watching the corner of Sam's mouth hitch up. And he _had_ to kiss him, didn't he? There was no other choice but to dive forward and duck his head and press his lips soft against Sam's, to feel him open and relax into it, like everything was okay just then, just for a moment.

Because Cas _saved him_ and goddammit, he'd do it again and again, for as long as it took.

If Sam was surprised, he didn't let it slip. Short kiss, and pretty chaste too, ending with their foreheads bashed together and then peeling away.

“Sorry.”

“Sorry.”

Sorry. Cas _was_. Brimming with remorse so thick it hurt, only half for what he'd done and more for _why the fuck did we have to meet like this_.

Sam left no opportunity for embarrassment. He got up and finished dressing in hoodie and track pants and it was a pleasant challenge not to fixate on his ass. And entirely possibly Sam wanted it that way because, “So...it's Tuesday,” he reminded Cas over his shoulder, as if that was a thing you'd forget. “Usual time?”

“Mhmm,” Cas hummed, trying at nonchalant,drumming his fingers on his thighs. “So, like last week, think of something you think resonates with you, that happened or didn't, and we can work on it.”

“Oh, I already know. We talked about it, remember?”

_Remember_.

Cas remembered. Cas jerked off to it no less than five times with the power of his own imagination and three more with some stellar porn. That guy that looked just like Sam from behind again, but _this_ time bending over and begging for it. Research, right?

“Good,” Cas smiled, closed mouthed. Sam leaned long against his dresser, crossed his arms over his chest. That _look_ , that vague little challenge fucking killed him, so misplaced and unnecessary and hot. And familiar, wasn't it?

Didn't Dean do that too?

Great. Winchesters, plural, now destroying his credibility three or four times a week.

By noon, he'd done the dishes and run out of excuses to be there and anyway, in only seven more hours, they'd be closer than ever.

* * *

 

Sam didn't really relax until Cas nestled between his legs and nuzzled at his balls. They'd fallen quick into bed, too quick, and Cas managed only the mot cursory of warnings and rules before they tore at clothes and smashed against each other. But, even after Cas gently pushed Sam down, made him recline and traced every inch of that long neck with tongue, after he'd crooned, “Can't believe my little brother's still a virgin,” and bit on his collarbone, even after all of that, Sam felt tense under his fingertips.

And there was a limit to the times he could grind out _relax_ in his approximation of Dean's voice.

But when he nudged Sam's legs apart, wide, so wide, mouthed at his balls and palmed his dick, well, that's when he felt Sam finally sigh out and give in. And thank god too, because shit was about to get serious.

All spread, Sam's legs looked about fifty miles longer and Cas shoved one leg up, pressed into the meaty muscle of his thigh and resisted chomping into it; they hadn't talked about that yet, but goddamn, like this, Cas wanted to devour him in every way possible.

_Professionally_.

Sam was soft and hard in turns, smooth and rough under his fingertips but hot everywhere, radiating it out from his big body. Cas figured the windows might even be fogged up because everything felt downright tropical, sticky-warm. But perfect too, slotted between Sam's legs and staring up the long expanse of his body, just sinking his mouth down around is balls.

Sam groaned loud, thrashed his head into the pillow and grabbed for Cas's hair. Nothing like before though, no tugging or pulling, just threading and light and maybe encouraging. And so much eye contact. Should have been awkward. Wasn't awkward at all. Whatever worked, whatever got Sam chilled out and into this.

“Ready?” Cas asked, growled in demand of an answer.

Sam nodded quick, added strained, “Please?” and let his legs fall open oven more.

“Good,” Cas muttered, licking down and down, feeling Sam's thigh jerk against his palm, and then his whole body when Cas swiped his tongue wide over Sam's impossibly tight hole. He might have gasped too but Cas didn't hear, everything deliciously muffed by the closeness, by his own noises because this, _this_ was completely intoxicating. The way Sam jerked with every stroke of his tongue, the tight _tight_ clench he felt twitching like heartbeat steady, oh god, this was absolutely where Cas belonged. Helping Sam.

Eating his ass was helping. Totally.

Cas jerked him at the same time, slow long strokes that got his fingers messy with precome. It pooled on Sam's stomach too, Cas saw it glittering and he was torn because _this_ or _that,_ what to watch? Both perfect and he didn't want to rush but he _did_ and wouldn't Dean? Wouldn't he be tripping over himself to open his gorgeous baby brother on his fingers?

God, he wasn't human if he didn't want that.

Cas dragged himself up to breathe, which turned into his mouth on Sam's dick unexpectedly fast while he spread Sam open with his fingers. Lube right there, they'd prepared somewhat and Cas pulled back to look, eyes flickering from Sam's redred face to his spit-shiny hole and how, how on earth would anything fit? At least Sam was _big_ , like big in general so hopefully it wouldn't be so bad but. But _goddamn_.

“Looks so good Sam, wish you could see before I mess you all up,” Cas said, and that felt right. That felt like Dean.

Sam jerked his hips towards Cas, nothing but panting and strangled noises and trashing on the pillow, hands balled into the sheets. Nothing to say, which was so at odds with last week, where he hadn't stopped. Maybe this whole thing was new to him, not just the obvious but stretching out, luxuriating in someone's worship. That had to change. It was changing, right fucking now. And over and over, if it worked out that way. At least every week.

As if that would ever be enough.

Lubes bottle crunched under Sam's tiny little hip for the longest time so it's warm. He's gonna need more, he figured, but for now, he can estimate. He's faced with a terrible choice of too many perspectives again, trying to watch them all at once but what wins is the view up Sam's torso and conveniently it's best viewed with Cas's mouth on his dick. Throbbing and messy and Cas ran his mouth along the length nudged his warm-lubed finger against Sam's ass and rubbed and that huge dick almost smacked him in the face.

The rest of Sam bucked too, livewire tight and unbearably sensitive, uncontrollably noisy without words at all. It was obscene.

_Well, yeah_

All the shaking, the whimpering, Cas hadn't seen anything so gorgeous. And this just on one of Cas's fingers, up to the second knuckle. By two, some magical lube-soaked dick-sucking indeterminate amount of time later, by two audibly wet fingers stuffed in Sam, he looked lost in the most beautiful way. No one was talking, Cas had his dick down his throat, tried a few quick thrusts with his hand and got such a reward.

Sam gasped surprised, eyes flaring open, both hands clutching Cass hair and it was so quick, the breathy little, “Fuck, _fuck_ ,” and everything tightened and shook, Sam's whole sweet body quaking.

Cas swallowed and swallowed and stared and Sam stared back, mouth agape, barely enunciating the groan of, “Fuck, _Cas_ ,” before he blew right down Cas's throat.

Oh, but...but he'd called him _Cas_ , and he wasn't right now. Wasn't supposed to be Cas.

Couldn't set him straight with a lungful of dick so Cas waited, waited until the shaking abated, until he'd swallowed all of Sam's come and then...well.

Just as Cas was sliding off Sam's dick, he saw it register, the tiny little mistake, in the crease in Sam's brow, the hitch in his breath, and all Cas managed was, “Um...”

Sam blinked, wild animal eyes, hands slackening in Cas's hair, falling to his sides. His chest heaved with a huge breath that he shuddered out in a sigh. “Sorry. Sorry, I..didn't mean to.”

“Its okay,” Cas said, _purred_ it across Sam's skin, stroking his stomach, rustling the faint trail of hair.

Sam nodded but it was clipped, lip-biting and tense. Eyebrows drawing down, forehead winkling and one hand went back to Cas's face so fast, it almost stung. “Can I just...can you just be you? Is that okay?”

_Oh. Oh shit._

No stopping that breathy little gasp from Cas's mouth, all treachery and more want than he really should cop to but he nodded. He fucking nodded and couldn't stop the stupid goddamned dumbass grin stretching across his face. _Bad, bad Cas_. He knew it. They were already too far gone, like Cas still had his fingers up to the knuckles in Sam's tight, tight ass and they were making fucking _eyes_ at each other and Cas felt his heart pounding out of his fucking chest, still tasted Sam heady-salty in his mouth.

And he thought he was in trouble before?

“Yes, yeah,” Cas sighed out and nodded again and Sam sighed too, face split in a grin, head falling back on the pillow and his hair fanned out so pretty, sweat-matted in places.

“Thank _god_ ,” Sam groaned, a hand flinging onto his forehead, “I just can't pretend today. Kinda...don't want to. You know?”

Yeah, yes, totally and absolutely, Cas kind of never wanted to pretend again ever with Sam. “Do you still want to...”

“Fuck yeah,” Sam chuckled out, rough and already a bit fucked out and then he had to go and add, “Please?”

And Cas felt the most want ever, in the world, in the whole history of the universe.

Probably went too fast, after that; Sam split open on three of his fingers and his dick didn't go soft at all, just leaked out more and more, making a mess on his stomach again, on Cas's tongue. And he swore he was ready, begged for it and Cas had to oblige; he was out of his goddamned mind for it.

Breakneck and hazy after that, memorable as a whole and in parts that Cas would dissect over and over later, but the ones that stuck out, the brand new deposits into his spank bank:

His dick slicked up in his hand and his other shoving Sam's leg up again, as far as it would go, pressing the other up by his own thigh and, “You're so fucking _bendy_ ,” while he leaned down to kiss him.

“Used to be able to suck my own dick,” Sam huffed out, spreading open further as Cas nudged against his mostly stretched but still definitely virgin hole. “Used to do it for Dean.”

Yeah. Fuck.

Cas shoved in slow as he could manage and tried to stay present but god fuck _fuck_ , that image, wiry bendy little Sammy folded in two with his lips around his own dick and Dean watching from _somewhere_ and somehow managing to keep his hands to himself, yeah, that was locked up in Cas's personal vault like, forever now.

Then Sam's hair fanned against the pillow, breathing shallow and so tight around Cas that he had to slow down, had to full stop for a moment and collect his shit, only to lose again because,

“Can I ride you, Cas? I wanna...wanna see what it's like.”

What it was like was the most gorgeous thing. No words. Cas had himself shoved against the headboard, sitting up, Sam draped everywhere, sweat-dappled hair in his face, one hand flat on the wall and the other curled around Cas's neck and, “God, it feels even bigger like this,” dripping out of Sam's mouth while he rocked and rocked and gasped.

They came like that, just like that, when Cas palmed Sam's dick between them and pressed his fingers against the stunning stretch, against the insane tightness he couldn't stop fucking up into.

Sam gasped so sharp, bounced fast until the bed creaked and groaned and then he couldn't anymore, breath held, head jammed into Cas's shoulder so Cas picked up the slack even through the vice-tightness, pumping teeth-gritted until he was coming and Sam too, sharp sticky shots that landed on both their chests, dripped between them while Cas filled him up, pushed in as deep as he could and loaded Sam up with everything he had.

Cas was glad, then and later, that it was _him_ , and not the put-on Dean. So dangerously glad.

* * *

If you were a reputable therapist in Kansas, changes were you saw Meg. Maybe once a month, maybe once every six. Some needed it every week, but you saw her. Cas did once a month, Wednesday nights. It got to be on your own terms, and Cas preferred to be reclined in his back garden, not the one the clients saw but the one he kept for himself, under the night sky and covered in blankets with a fat joint shoved between his lips. Meg was teeny-tiny and lost blankets beside him, curled towards him, staring in that lovely calming questioning way she had.

“I'm consumed,” Cas sighed out, watched the smoke fly up against the stars and disappear away in the light breeze.

“This isn't about your late cabbage crop, is it?”

“No,” Cas smirked gentle at her.

“Usually that's all I hear about. Your napas and the Russian kale.”

“I planted curly kale this year. And black. For minestrone? It's fine, I'm waiting for a frost and then I'll harvest it.”

“Uh huh. So.”

“So?”

“You're _consumed_ ,” Meg gently mocked the drama of how he'd said it, throwing her hand up onto her forehead, so inoffensively, it made Cas laugh.

“A client. Two clients, actually.”

“New ones?”

“Brothers.”

“Sounds messy already.”

“Sam came first. So to speak.”

“So to speak?”

Cas paused, glancing at Meg and then back towards the sky, dusting it again with a cloud of smoke. “Remember that workshop in Sonoma last year?”

“Yes,” Meg drawled, “Where you said 'I can't imagine this being of any use' while you watched the admittedly pretty hot sexual therapy demonstration?”

“Right. Well. See. The shoe kind of fit.”

“Hmm. Which one?”

“The younger brother. That's Sam. See, he's in love with his older brother.”

“Not uncommon.”

“ _He_ _is_ though. He came in fully aware of it. And fully aware that he's fucked up about it. So...”

“So, sex therapy. Oh, Cas. How are you handling that?”

He sighed again, slightly out of control. “Like I said. I'm consumed. We were pretending I was his brother, right? But then last time, this _thing_ happened. He was all tense and then...well. He used my name. And he didn't want to pretend anymore.”

“Which basically amounts to you fucking a client.”

“Right.”

“Which can still be therapeutic, of course.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure. As long as you remember it's for them.”

Cas grunted. It was for Sam, still, wasn't it? Yeah. But in a way, Sam was for _him_. So. What was that?

“Why are you seeing his brother too? That seems tricky to manage.”

“Not really. His brother's problems aren't the same.”

“You mean, he's not..?”

“Nope.”

“Hm. This sounds really messy, Cas.”

“It's getting there,” he admitted, craning his head back on the lounge chair, finding constellations. “I'll be careful, Meg.”

“But you're already _consumed_.”

She had a point; she always had a point and she had several more before the night was up. Things about boundries, even though he'd already crossed them, and warnings about becoming enmeshed, even though he kind of sort of already felt it like that. Good word for it. He liked that one.

Spacey hazy goodbye and a promise he'd call, at least, in two weeks. No chiding, because she wasn't like that, but the warning-observation stuck in his head all night: sometimes _you feel things too much, big guy, sometimes all that pain's not meant for you._

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Cas heard the car pull up before he saw it, this distinct low growl that matched Dean's personality perfectly. How did that even work? Cas didn't know thing one about cars, but he knew Dean had the right one. The exact perfect match. Watched him through the front window, getting out immediately even though he was early. Cute little jog up the front steps.

Cas felt angry and nervous and like, the slightest bit intimidated? He clutched the mug in his hand and waited for the knock on the door, a playful little rhythm and why would anyone even do that? Ugh. Cas waited a few seconds so he didn't look like he'd been waiting. Didn't do that with Sam.

_Stop comparing. Just stop, you can't keep that up and keep sane._

“Hey, Doc,” Dean said before Cas could get anything out, standing with the door open and Dean came right in like this was old hat. Once before and now he was comfortable and an expert, glancing past the stairs towards the kitchen, pointing. _Moving_. “Coffee's on, right?”

“Uh...yes?” Cas answered slow, shutting the door and following behind Dean, who casually strolled into the kitchen. He didn't _like_ people in his kitchen, liked them relegated to the one room but Dean was already opening his cupboards and looking for a mug. “Just help yourself,” Cas muttered in the doorway, leaning, offering no help at all. Why should he?

Dean grinned over his shoulder, taking out Cas's biggest mug. “Hey, I haven't been drinking if that's what you're thinking. Just like, _bone_ _tired_ , y'know?”

Was that a sex joke? Had the pick up, the blow off of Sam been the start of some sex-crazed bender? Cas couldn't start asking yet. And why did his mind go _there_ first thing anyway? What was up with that?

Cup filled, coat slung on the round kitchen table, Dean was, apparently, ready. He raised his eyebrows at Cas and gestured towards the closed door that, god knows how, he knew went to the conservatory. He had complimented him on the house. Maybe he'd spent more time looking last than Cas noticed?

Oh, whatever. Dean was fraying his nerves already, so he just nodded, slipping past him on the way.

“You seem much more comfortable,” he noted, standing, letting Dean choose where to sit as always. Watching the indecision. Some people were the same seat every time. Some switched.

_And some do entire hours with their head on your lap, your fingers in their hair, your lips on theirs. Shouldn't you charge extra for that_?

Dean picked the chair Sam had picked the first few times, across from where Cas liked to sit. Far enough away to preclude physical contact. And Dean could look out the windows if he wanted, bypass Cas altogether. It was a popular spot

_Don't ask him about giving his brother a fucking mental breakdown. Don't ask him why it wasn't him nursing the tears and making sure Sam didn't slit his wrists_.

“So you said you haven't been drinking this time.” Cas started, scrawling a little 's' on the top of the Dean page. “You made a special effort?”

“Uh, yeah. And I worked this morning, so that kinda keeps the demon liquor off my lips. Until quittin' time at least.”

“How much do you think you had to drink this week? Since you saw me?”

“Not as much as usual, I guess. Not that I was paying attention.” Dean shrugged, slouched, sipped his coffee. “Went out with Sammy one night. Wasn't too much of a bender.”

_Let's not, let's never talk about this_.

“Why not?”

Dean snorted, flashed his green eyes up to Cas. “Well, Doc, I took someone home and I didn't want whiskey dick, if you must know. Sammy tell you about it?”

 “I can't disclose that.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“And anyway, you brought it up.”

“Smart ass.”

“I'm a doctor. So yes. Continue.”

“What? With _what_?”

“You picked up. I'd like to hear about it.”

“Holy shit, Doc. You want all the gory details? I mean, where do I stop? Where do I start? We locked eyes across the room and it was magic, my dick instantly sprung outta my pants and angels sang. We did it on the pool table, but it felt like clouds in heaven.” Dean cut himself off with a snort, shaking his head. “Seriously, why the hell do you wanna know?”

“How often did you pick up last week? I'm trying to get into your behaviour patterns.”

“Oooh. Last week...three, four times?”

_Jesus_.

“From a bar, every time?”

“I use apps sometimes. I only _look_ like a caveman.”

“Were you- “

“Oh wait, wait, lemme guess: drunk every time?”

Cas frowned so hard it nearly hurt his face, his eyes fixing on his notebook instead of Dean.

“Anyway, yeah, I was drunk or had been drinking. Every time. So you wanna figure out if the sex addiction is from the drinking, or the other way around? Right? Cause, man, I dunno. Doesn't matter.”

“You think you're a sex addict?”

“Yeah. Probably. I'm not an idiot, I know it's kinda...a compulsive behaviour.”

“You knowing that doesn't change the behaviour, of course.”

“Right,” Dean grumbled, paused, slouched more. Drank coffee. Seemed utterly petulant, utterly horrified at the prospect of this, of talking about feelings even though he'd come on his own free will and was fucking _paying Cas money_ and nothing pissed him off more. Almost nothing. “Anyway, the drinking's just in the family. That's genetics.”

“Who else in your family drinks?”

“Dad drank, I drink, sometimes Sam doesn't know when to say when.”

“No one else? Three doesn't mean it's genetic.”

“I barely know anyone else in the family anymore, Doc.” Dean confessed with a shrug that Cas found slightly painful; what an isolated life they'd all had. Strange and terrible and actually, if all they were was alcoholics, maybe they'd got off easy.

But then Cas felt guilty just for thinking that, when he remembered how pained Sam looked, almost all the goddamned time. That just brought up a fresh stab of anger for his current client and that was bad.

But he handled it.

“Okay...well. What is a typical encounter like for you?”

Quiet for a while. More like silence; quiet implied some kid of comfort. The very word was cushy and soft but silence was hard and staggering and that's what it was.

“Look, Doctor Novak, I don't know if we're barking up the right tree here. So I picked up, big deal. Wasn't anything weird about it.”

“Except that you don't want to talk about it.”

“Right.”

“Dean. Just give me the bare bones, and I'll decide if we need to look into it more.”

“Fine,” Dean sighed, took a long time with his coffee before he set it aside. “I was out - “

“Drinking, at a bar?”

“-yeah, jesus. I was getting to that.”

“Alone?”

“..With Sam.”

The glare made Cas want to stop, kind of snapped him back to the reality where he was being a dick. That had to stop. Offensive. Problematic. Cas muttered out some kind of apology and put his notebook down, pen down on top of it, watched it roll onto the couch. A while before Dean continued.

“I don't know what you wanna know.”

“How it went. How you do that.”

“Lookin' for tips?” Dean laughed, bitter. “We eye fucked and I went over and said hi, bought a round. Couple more. Couldn't even tell you what we talked about, if it was anything. You know, _flirting?_ Maybe you don't know.”

Felt like Dean was sizing him up. There was the up and down, very obvious. He moved to the edge of the chair, eyebrows drawing down. Like he was just considering Cas.

The attention made Cas's face heat up, wish he hadn't put the notebook down. Wishing Dean would stay in that one spot, not move like he seemed poised to do. Because Cas had no resolve right then, maybe not ever, maybe he was learning that about himself.

“So, see, the eye sex. We're doin' it. It's gonna keep going while I do something else.” He went for the coffee, wrapping his lips around the rim of the cup, still locked onto Cas.

Well, it worked. No doubt that it wouldn't. Dean knew that.

“And I remain focused on you the whole time,” Cas said, dry, but dutifully staring. As if there was anything else in the room to ever look at. In the world. “I think I get a pass.”

Dean laughed quietly behind the cup, set it down so slow, eyes sweeping out the window at the landscape. He didn't look back at Cas until he was on his feet. “Now I'm coming over,” he explained, and dropped down onto the wide arm of Cas's with no hesitation. “This works better in a bar, trust me.”

Cas cracked a smile, looking up and down just as quick, just as Dean's hand pressed against his back. Then he went almost shy, which was ridiculous.

“Then, usually, 'hey you were lookin' at me' or 'you were checking me out' something pointed like that. Don't wanna waste time. Y'wanna write down 'favors direct approach' or something?”

“I think I can remember that.”

“Oh, you'll remember.”

“...really? That's so incredibly cheesy,” Cas turned to laugh but looking at Dean made it so much worse. His eyes were so bright with the autumn light, washed out green like dying grass or else the first shoots all pale and new. Crinkles around the edges because he smiled, showstopping. No one who enjoyed doing filthy things to gorgeous people who would say no.

“It is, isn't it? But cheesy works like, nine times outta ten and if it doesn't, a little more flattery More shots. More casual pawing.” Dean grabbed at Cas's back and made a surprised noise, digging his fingers in harder. “Huh. Now, you, I'd probably teach darts.”

“Okay,” Cas squirmed away, twisting, scowling, brushing Dean's hand off his back. “I didn't ask for a demonstration.”

Dean stood up, hands out. No malice in his face, just amusement. He settled on the couch this time, right in the middle after some arranging of pillows. “Isn't _demonstration_ your kinda thing though? Aren't you all hands on, like, an inch away from malpractice?”

Cas didn't know where the hell to start with that. Definitely unhealthy to spend any time at all being cross with Dean; that was the word, because it wasn't flat out anger anymore, he was _cross_ like Dean was some misbehaving child who was vaguely hilarious but not now, it'll just make a good story when he's grown. So he grabbed his notebook and his pen again, the latter dangerously close to Dean's leg.

Of course Dean loved the grimace and the reach, loved all of the attention, good or bad. He was showing off in any way Cas would let him. And Cas wanted to play along, because it'd be easy to brush his knuckles on Dean's thigh while he got the pen, easy to start stuffing the end in his mouth. Or twirl it with his fingers.

But he did none of these things. Instead, he scrawled a neat series of triangles in the margins.

“If you'd like to make an appointment on _those_ terms, it has to be a different day. And not in this room.”

“ _Twice_ a week? That's a screw job. And literally, in some cases, right? That's what I've gathered.”

“Dean, you are absolutely wasting everyone's time right now.”

“Jeez, I'm just curious.” Dean rolled his eyes, slouching a bit. “You talked about it last time, the whole 'safe spaces' thing.”

Cas narrowed his eyes, at last unable to keep from gnawing on the end of the pen, rolling the plastic around absently in his mouth. “So you've been thinking more about it?” he asked at length, trying to find a way around what he already knew. Dean picked up, Dean picked up a _guy_ , so why this whole farce?

“Yeah, a bit. I guess. I mean...” Dean trailed off, frowning, fingertips drumming against his thigh. “How d'you think it'd help? Seein' you for one of those uh, special things.”

“Like I said, it'd give you a judgment-free zone to explore some feelings or urges you might have, under total control.”

“Okay, that sounds like a movie I saw once. There was this girl with these _killer_ boots and she had this dude on his knees and - “

“Oh my god,” Cas groaned, tipping his head back. Wanted to throw his fucking notebook down or at Dean, wanted to blurt out the shit he already knew but god, that was a lawsuit waiting to happen.

Dean appeared to enjoy his distress, eyes lit up in amusement, the slightest little smirk creeping across his lips. Was he fucking with Cas? When _wasn't_ he?

“I can't help you if you're going to make fun of me.” Cas tried the direct approach with a hard, no nonsense stare and after a moment, Dean actually squirmed.

_Yeah, still got it._

“Yeah. I know,” Dean muttered, sighing, slouching, his legs spread so wide they took up almost the entire couch. “Alright, what were we talkin' about again?”

“I wanted to hear about what picking up is like for you. What needs it fulfills other than the obvious.”

“What's the obvious?”

“Sexual release.”

“That's basically all it is, Doc.”

“It just seems like a lot of effort.”

“Um, it's not? I just showed you how it goes. I wasn't pullin' punches. On a good night, I can seal the deal in ten.”

“And it's just sex.”

“Yeah? Just sex. No crying or cuddling or long conversations. Not lookin' for a relationship thing.”

“Why not?” Cas asked slowly, eyes narrowing again, pen poising over a line on his notebook.

“Don't need it, don't want it. Next question.”

Tricky.

“So. Back to your place?”

“Are you askin'? It's a bit down the road, but we ca - “

“Do you take _them_ back to your place.”

“Hmm, sometimes. Sometimes theirs. Sometimes that motel just past the town limits. Sometimes my car. Got a big backseat, y'know? Looks pretty in pictures.”

Cas swept his eyes from his glib notes up to Dean again. _Pictures_. Pictures of what? Him, the pickups? Both? Pictures of fucking? Oh god, _Dean_.

“Pictures.” Cas managed to drawl.

“Mhmm.”

“Of?”

“Oh c'mon, what d'you think? I can show you, if you want.” He didn't wait, just dove into his pocket for his phone before Cas could muster a protest.

And he kind of wanted to see anyway; what did it look like? Dim lighting, rough fucking, disembodied heads, just parts and pieces and -

“No, thank you,” Cas held up his hand finally, expecting some kind of protest but Dean just shrugged and tucked his phone away again, the whole motion drawing Cas's attention to Dean's general sprawl again, thick thighs in tight jeans. How many pictures were there of some pretty little thing perched there?

God. He couldn't look.

“So, you have a collection?”

“Hmm, not a bad way to put it. Kinda creepy though. I mean, I just like takin' 'em. And looking at 'em. It's not a big deal.”

Cas scrawled 'exhibitionist?' not for the first time. Probably not for the last. “Do you show anyone else?”

“I might text 'em to the other party.”

“The girl?”

“Hey, or _woman_. There's a difference, y'know.”

God, but Dean had an answer for everything. He was impossible.

“You like to show off,” Cas said, simply.

Dean pursed his lips like he was thinking, flung his arm over the back of the couch and nodded. “I'd say that's a fair assessment.”

He was doing it now. Showing off. Cas figured he never stopped. Maybe at work. But he probably did it with Sam too, probably started that whole fucking roller coaster just because he needed someone to _look_. Ah, fuck. Cas wanted to move on, wanted the hour to speed to a close like it did with other people.

They talked more about the picking up with more pronoun vagueries that Cas couldn't call him on. God, it was shitty. But Cas had a pile of notes by time he ushered Dean to the front door. More than last time.

“I'm gonna think about that thing, Doc,” Dean said, turning around, just barely biting into his bottom lip. “The, uh, extra day.”

“Well. Let me know.”

“What days are Sammy's? So I can avoid crossing the streams, y'know?”

Oh. So he _did_ know. How much? How much did he know?

Cas stood with his mouth open, searching for an actual appropriate answer that wasn't _every day if he wants, literally whenever he wants, he came over thursday to talk and we just laid together instead, we're going on a date tomorrow._

No. Instead, “When you decide what you'd like, we can pick an appropriate day.”

Dean raised his eyebrows, swept his gaze up and down Cas and shrugged. “Professional, huh? I like that. It's what he deserves. Alright, next wee?”

Cas just nodded but he felt equal tabs of pride and anger heat him up. Cas watched Dean's car roar down the street until it was out of view and added another Winchester appointment into his schedule.

* * *

Saturday was date night. A real, actual date. With Sam. Cas had no idea what he was doing.

“You could tell me about yourself?” Sam half-joked, same side of the booth as Cas with red in his cheeks from all the beer.

“There's not much to tell,” Cas admitted and hated the slurring edge of his voice; he didn't drink, and he shouldn't be here encouraging Sam in the family drinking problem. But he was. And enjoying it, loose and relaxed and Sam looked _stunning_ here, at 10pm, in this dim lit bar that Cas never even noticed before.

“Alright, where'd you go to school?”

“NYU. And then - “

“Did you like New York? I can't picture you there.”

“I can't either,” Cas laughed, and it felt like Sam, on the outside edge of the booth, got closer. But he was so big it was hard to tell. “It was four years and it was strange. I never really felt like a person.”

“Yikes,” Sam muttered.

Cas laughed, felt his face crinkling up with it. “It wasn't that bad. It was almost better that way, with so much to learn and do and everything. I just became all of those experiences.”

“Oh my god, that is...the hippiest thing to say.”

But he wasn't unkind. Cas slid closer, their shoulders knocking together.

“It really did help. Didn't you feel like that in college?”

“I was this tall already,” Sam said, gesturing even higher above his head, “And then I was half this wide. Just arms and legs and neck, it was impossible to disappear like that. But, small fish, big pond, right? That's what you mean?”

“Basically.” Cas watched Sam poke his half-full beer towards him and squinted, just a second at it. Well what the hell, they still had half their second pitcher to go so he might as well finish that off. Then he'd stop. He didn't particularly like beer but it was better than anything hard and he doubted this hole in the wall had decent wine.

“So after that?”

No sooner had he drained the glass than Sam was filling it up again, eyebrows shot up in question.

“Oregon. Much more the right speed.”

“The west coast, right?” Sam shook his head longingly, tiny sigh. “Do you miss it? I miss it every day.”

It was hard not to be the _doctor_ because he needed to ask _so why are you here_ but he already knew the answer. And there was no place for that here, this was a _date_ , this was two guys on a date at a bar like guys did, irregardless of how they'd met.

That wasn't really true at all though.

“I do miss it. I'm sure you had less rain than I did but you actually get used to it.”

“There's a surprising amount of rain in Palo Alto. Really tanks your runs though, huh?”

His runs or Cas's runs and how did he know Cas ran anyway?

“How - “

“Your thighs,” Sam grinned and it went crooked and there were dimples and his big hand on Cas's thigh, squeezing, _oh my god_ , squeezing kind of hard.

Cas shuddered in a breath an instinctively glanced around the room. No one was looking, why would they be? He hadn't been to a bar so long, he'd forgot the whole glorious anonymity. No wonder Sam frequented them so much.

_And Dean_.

No, he didn't know Dean outside of a professional setting, didn't know Dean on a personal social basis and he didn't want to. Except if he was dating _Sam_ that kind of came along with his brother and he hadn't considered that before. A road of desperately awkward Thanksgivings and Christmases although they didn't really seem like the type of family who celebrated much of that.

This implied something long term when he hadn't even thought about it. Well. A little that Thursday, with Sam's adoring eyes blinking so slow and pretty and just for him. That every day, that every morning and every night? Cas really, really wanted it.

“D'you run?” he blurted it out just to shut his drunk-dumb mind up, to focus on the here and now Sam in front of him and under the table, kneading at his leg.

“I try to, unless I'm super hungover and gross like this morning. It's good, right?”

“It's very good. Clears your mind.”

“You started in college?”

“Yes.”

“I was sixteen?” Sam rolled his eyes up when he said it, remembering. “We were in New Orleans and it was the 90s so it was filthy. I mean where we lived, it was cheap so like, hookers and junkies but then these sassy Italian grandmothers who'd been there since the 70s with these huge families. Anyway, it was actually nice and we had a house and dad had a job. We stayed so long, teachers actually learned my name. And neighbours talked to us, and brought us food and stuff. And I was on the soccer team. And it was a Catholic school so they actually cared about soccer. And then Dean told me I was too pudgy for soccer, so I started running.” Sam shrugged when he was finished, diving into his beer. Of course.

“I'm sure you weren't 'pudgy.'” Cas said, instead of the screaming he wanted to do about Sam's no good brother. And besides, that wasn't true anyway; some of Sam's childhood stories about his brother were downright heartwarming, movie of the week shit about two kids overcoming huge odds.

Yes, and becoming dangerously enmeshed in a decidedly hot way that only Cas really knew about. Just the filthiest little secret. Or big. Yeah. It was big.

“Nah, it was alright, I was a kid. But it gave me a reason to get out of the house.”

“You needed a reason?”

Sam just rolled his eyes and didn't say and Cas didn't need to hear it to know anyway. The usual, the ever-present. That was fine, there was nothing to do about that.

“How'd you start?”

“I don't even remember,” Cas squinted. He didn't and that was a little weird, wasn't it? To forget a formative thing like that. “Maybe it was a club or a person or maybe I read something, I honestly can't remember. But it clicked.”

“Well, we should go out running sometime.” Sam winked and he was all dimples and Cas didn't even notice him pouring the last of the pitcher into his glass until the deed was done. “Y'know they do beer runs? Like, 5, 10k and you get a beer at ever kilometre. Or something. That'd be fun.” And he swooped forward and kissed Cas on the forehead, easily more reachable than his cheek for the moment, and in one smooth motion, grabbed the pitcher and slid out of the booth before Cas could protest.

This was, in one sitting, easily more beer than he'd had in the whole of the year.

At 1am, he did not let Sam convince him into shots, but neither did Sam seem upset by this. He was draped around Cas in the same booth where they'd been all night, where it was a mess. The bar was quieter and they were louder.

They were making out, like teenagers, all hands over the pants and under the shirts and panting and Cas felt so full, so excited and elated. They pulled apart and his fists were in Sam's shirt and he was grinning and Sam was too, foreheads knocked together.

And, “Cas, I've gotta ask you something.” and it couldn't be good from the way Sam groaned and let his cheek fall against the high seat back. “I don't want to but I keep thinking about it.”

“You should ask,” Cas said, very seriously, his fists falling flat, patting Sam's chest _so big god he is a monster_ , “It's okay, Sam.”

“Yeah?”

Cas would tell him anything; he was all there was to focus on, all Cas could look at and all he wanted to and he'd answer anything for him, take your pick. That awkward first blowjob at camp, yes absolutely, in detail. Why did he remember that and not some other stuff? More important stuff? Well, there was the first time he got fingered, maybe Sam wanted to hear about that. Back of the library at NYU, on his hands and knees in the stacks. The hell was that guys name? Cas didn't remember that much. Just enough and he could embellish the rest, if Sam actually wanted to know

“Yes, Sam, anything,” he sighed out, well aware he was staring up desperately at Sam, drunk blinking and his hair flopping awkwardly and everything else in the room gone but Sam.

“What's Dean talk about?”

“Oh, oh no, I can't - “

“Anything, you said,” Sam insisted, quietly, one big hand on the side of Cas's neck, the other sliding over his shoulder and down, down his back, tugging him closer so their heads were touching again, legs all tangled under the table and on the seat. “Please?”

Head tilt of a curious confused puppy and the eyes of one who'd been kicked around too much and now Sam was the desperate one and Cas couldn't fucking _stand_ it, all the shit he'd been put through and come out of and how could he go back on that incredibly stupid promise of _anything_.

Then Sam frowned so deep and tilted harder and kissed him, wide warm thumb on Cas's cheek. Too much.

“Just...does he talk about me?” Sam asked, so low Cas wouldn't have heard if their mouths weren't still pressed together.

Oh, he had to, didn't he? He had to tell Sam something and why shouldn't it be the truth?

“A little,” he broke, squeezing his eyes shut, going to hell and end up in court or end up on the couch of some other doctor, someone entirely disapproving and stern and maybe even angry at him, like how he got angry at Dean.

Sam just kissed him again, long and sweet. “You'd tell me, right? If...if there was any chance?”

And it hung because Cas let it hang between them. Why did he have to be the one?

He licked at his suddenly paper dry lips with his equally sandpapery tongue.

“I would tell you,” he repeated, mechanical, empty, “If there were a chance.”

“Okay,” Sam breathed out heavy, against Cas's mouth still. “Okay, Cas.”

Cas let out his own sigh, eyes open again and Sam was right there and he didn't look any more broken than he usually did. Quiet, just their breath knocking each other for a while, and Cas lot track of the time easily, let it all fall to shreds for Sam's sad eyes.

“He...lies.”

Sam's eyes opened wider and then he laughed, loud and clear. “Oh my god, what an asshole. He's paying you so he can lie to you. What about?”

But what doesn't he lie about? Cas was sure it was everything from sex to what he had for lunch.

“Well...” Cas started, brow furrowing confused, unsure how to piece it together or if any of it even fit together. No, it didn't. “About who he's attracted to.”

“Like...what?”

Awful to have to get into it this way but he was waist deep, no, deeper, he was chin deep he was forehead deep so just drown, it's fine, too late.

“He told me...he wasn't sure if he was attracted to other men. And then...this week, you said...” Cas trailed off. It was enough, Sam got it, he was smart and he could figure it out.

“Oh...” Sam said, blurted it out amused, “Oh, Cas, he's probably baiting you.”

“He's...what?” No, no no, Cas was too good for that. Sure, a lot of stuff went over his head but something like _that_ in his own fucking room, he'd know about it, he'd be able to spot the grift from a mile away.

But it was true, because Dean wanted that 'safe space' didn't he?

“That might be my fault, since...I mentioned your uh, therapeutic...uh...stuff.”

“That rat.”

“Heh, yeah, that's a good one. He is, isn't he? What did he say?”

“Something about...how he wasn't sure and he'd love to have a safe space to explore...feelings and...all of that. The usual. Is it possible he...took the man home and didn't do anything?”

“Uh, no,” Sam rolled his eyes again, brow creasing again, frowning again, but maybe not as deep. “Well...play dumb.”

“What?”

He couldn't.

“Just...pretend we never had this conversation. Let him trick you, I wanna see how far he takes it.”

“Sam,” Cas frowned, room too hot and they were too close, they needed some air or just he needed some air that wasn't stale beer air and Sam's sweet breath tipping into his mouth. “Sam, I can't.”

“Sure you can,” Sam had a half-smile and those sad eyes burning fierce and his fingers digging in wherever they touched Cas, his neck and his back but it felt like everywhere sometimes, they were so big. “And then you can tell me, right? What it's like?”

Cas inhaled sharp, felt a pang in his chest like he'd never felt before. This wasn't right, this was exactly where everything was headed but it didn't make it right.

If Cas could go back, back to the phone call and Sam's cocky brother over the phone, he'd hang up, block the number or never pick up the thing, give Sam hell for referring his fucking brother and did he have this in mind the entire time? Was this some sick fucked up plan?

No, no that was wrong and he couldn't think it, Sam might see it in his eyes and he was going through enough, constantly, perennially enough.

Poor Sam.

Cas swallowed hard, felt his throat bobbing under Sam's warm hand and he pushed himself forward and kissed him, made it long and thorough because they would never have this time again, this innocence before the conspiracy.

He would do it, and he nodded and Sam kissed him back after that, and after that they stumbled to his apartment and Cas hadn't been so drunk since college and so reckless since then either. Sam was drawing him out in ways he didn't know he needed or wanted or could even handle, although that remained to be seen.

Cas rode Sam on the couch, no trace of whiskey dick because god, they wanted each other, demanded everything from each other and Cas knew full well he was stuck.

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

“Stop,” Sam groaned, eyes trained, locked on Dean as he swanned back over to their table with a tray, six shots. “You're in a good mood and it's freaking me out.”

Of course, Dean looked beautiful when he was sad too but this was rare and amazing, eyes sparkling, posture loose when he draped onto the stool across from Sam, and not just _drunk-_ loose, although they'd polished off a pitcher already in like, half an hour, which had to be some kind of sick record.

So everything seemed okay and Sam wasn't immediately regretting his decision to come out with Dean again. Just seeing him made it worth his time, and then seeing him _happy_? What a fucking revelation.

“I feel good,” Dean answered, simply, and down went one shot, and then a second.

Sam stared too hard, a few seconds behind, but he had no trouble matching Dean. None at all. He'd learned from the best.

“Is it because of...you know.”

Dean just rolled his eyes and finished off the third and changed the subject. Cars for a bit, which Sam tolerated. because there was always Dean to stare at, excited and gesturing, knocking at the hanging lamp with one over-exuberant motion. Sam talked a bit about his work but it was mostly confidential or else really boring. There was nothing else to discuss in life, although Sam itched to ask about last week, about that _guy_ Dean went home with.

Like:

Did you see him again? Do you want to?

Did he top you? He was big, was his dick big?

If you do it again can I watch, can I join in? Can I film it so I can watch it forever and ever? While crying into a bottle of wine and a pile of cats?

_Gross_.

So Sam didn't ask.

He didn't keep track of the drinks; sometimes he made a messy tally on his phone, or depending on the place knife-scratches on the tables, on the walls, but tonight with a jovial Dean providing the party in every respect, he wasn't bothering.

They were close quarters by the dart board a few hours later, and everything felt gently tilted and overly warm, the best part. Probably dangerous to be throwing darts in this state but they were professionals and anyway, if the bar didn't want them to have sharp things, they could damn well come and take them away.

“So how often d'you see Novak?” Dean asked, back turned, right arm firing off some near bullseyes.

“Twice,” Sam shrugged, added, “A week, I mean.” And he overthought that question heavily watching Dean pick out the darts from the board, just in his grey t-shirt, all other layers discarded for the sake of movement and the whiskey sweats.

Overthinking and ogling Dean at the same time.

But then he flat out asked, “Why?” because it kinda felt like a trap and he kinda saw Dean smirking. Oh my god, he was smirking. _Why?_

“Just wondering. Just...talking about those uh, special therapy appointments he does, last time. So you're into that, I guess, if you're going that often?”

Sam felt his brows drawing into a frown before he had time to shake that away, like he would have done if he were even a bit more sober. So now he couldn't lie to Dean because he'd seen everything in one unguarded expression and goddammit, Sam worked so hard, he shouldn't have to deal with this shit. But here it was. So deal.

“Yeah,” he huffed out, snatched the darts from Dean's outstretched hand and positioned himself in front of the board.

“So...what do you do?”

Sam felt his shoulders tense, his whole body go rigid. Jaw clenched, answering, “That's really personal, Dean.” and he fired. Closer to the centre on two and three, but not there, not as good as Dean. Sam stalked to retrieve the darts like a tin soldier, stiff and sore everywhere, but especially inside.

“Aw, c'mon,” Dean called out, “I just wanna know if it's right for me.”

Wow.

Wow, _no_.

But Sam couldn't take his time with that, had to get back right away and he felt like fucking Frankenstein, monster _or_ mad scientist, walking back, letting the darts clatter onto the table so he could drink. Yeah, he needed that, whether he was gonna spill or not, he needed it. Needed Dean gesturing for more too. Good old Dean.

_Fuck_ Dean. Jesus.

They stopped playing darts. Two, three drinks later they were in a corner on some ridiculously high table and they were so close and Sam couldn't stop staring at Dean's hands, the way they traced the grooves in the wood and came so close to his, so close it gave him goosebumps.

And then he had this soft-faced tilted-head gaze up at Sam, thumb and index finger tugging at Sam's rolled up sleeve. “Hey, d'you fuck him? The doctor?”

Sam stared back and he was definitely drunk because Dean looked like he glowed, shining, spit slick red lips and freckles popping against flushed skin and those little beads of sweat at his temples that, god help him, Sam wanted to lick away, wanted to smear the salt with his lips and trace every inch of Dean's face with his mouth.

Instead he shut his eyes and nodded, and opened them again when Dean laughed and leaned back against the wall, grinning.

No resolve left when he saw that face; Sam wanted to spill everything, wanted to make Dean happy, give him whatever he wanted. Gory mixed up sex-life-cum-therapy details? Sure, why not? Take them all, take everything.

He turned to face Dean better. Both drinking still, neither needed it but by did it make everything easier.

“He...he lets me do whatever I want,” Sam said, breaking into a grin to match his brother's. Always so fucking infectious, it wasn't fair.

“Whatever you want?” Dean laughed, eyes falling. “Holy shit.”

Quiet for a bit, besides the bar clanking, other tables noises, laughter, normal conversations, probably.

“Within reason, right?” Dean added, head tilted up again, blinking slow.

“I haven't really pushed it, but, I dunno.”

“Well,” Dean started, tongue tracing his lips, clumsily tipping more booze into his mouth leaving them still wet. “What d'you do?”

_Everything, everything I can't do to you or have done to me because because because_ and Sam wanted to inventory everything for Dean. But no. He was missing the glaringly obvious.

“Dean...what's with the guy? Last week? And why're you asking me about Cas? You...uh, I mean, it's kinda late to be switching teams.” It came out all slurred and choppy.

Dean just raised an eyebrow. Still so close, still touching at him casually like it was nothing and Sam wondered how far he could go. Slip his arm around Dean's shoulders? Around his waist? He didn't do anything, kept his hands on the table, nervous fiddling with the glass he wasn't sure he should finish.

“No switching, Sammy. There's no _teams_ , that kinda thinking's bullshit. I do what I want.”

“That's not an answer,” Sam groaned, shifting more towards his brother so their legs almost had to tangle together, rubbed up and they didn't care. Sam rested his head on his fist, propped up and _still so close_ _._

“Oh my god, what do you want? Yeah, okay, sometimes I bang guys. It's not a big deal, it's not a thing.”

_Hah_. Easy for him to say.

Sam couldn't move. Because how long, and how had he never known and why not in front of him? With him? Jesus, if he wanted a guy all beefy and ready and willing, Sam was right there, for years beside him or on the same goddamned bed or watching from the front seat or whatever. Right here, thighs touching, staring and leaning and poised like lovers and it still wouldn't be enough.

“A-plus hiding that one,” Sam muttered once he realized he had to say something.

“It's _not_ a big deal,” Dean reiterated. “I wasn't hiding it.”

But he could have said it a thousand times and not made it true. Repetition wasn't honesty and Sam felt like his body caved in on itself.

“So you wanna fuck Cas too? Is that why you're asking? Cause he does it for _therapy,_ not just because you can't stand being in a room with someone and not sticking your dick in 'em.”

“Hey, shut up,” Dean laughed out and he shouldn't be laughing, why was he laughing? Fucking Dean. “It _is_ therapy. I mean, fuckin' is one thing but there's other stuff too. Stuff that, y'know, you can't really get down to with randos in the back of the car or whatever. Like...close stuff.”

It took Sam a slow few seconds, not helped by drinking through the pause but fuck it, what else was there to do?

“You mean, like, relationship stuff.”

“I dunno, maybe.” Dean looked away and Sam hadn't seen him that uncomfortable about something in a while. Yeah, he could talk about fucking all he wanted but _romance_ and _relationships_ were never on the table. But Dean steamrolled right past it, true to form, and Sam felt like he might be mired in it forever. “So, d'you think if you like, called him now - “

“I am not doing that - “

“No, no, not like, a booty call. Like. I dunno, if you called him and told him you needed to get off or something, d'you think he'd acquiesce?” Dean looked back, looked curious as hell more than destructive or taunting or something nefarious. And...would Cas? They were kind of a _thing,_ not that Dean needed to know, but would that extend to...what?

“You wanna know if he'd talk me off? Or send dick pics? Or _what_?”

“All three.”

“ _Why?_ ”

“I'm curious. 'Bout the limits of this thing. And...'bout what _sex problems_ you got so bad that you need to fuck a therapist.”

“Okay, alright, you know what,” Sam muttered, hunching away, finishing off the whiskey in two gulps. “Done, I'm tapping out.” Sam knocked over the stool trying to get down, jammed the table up against the wall trying to put his coat on, ended up leaning back against the wall with one big hand over his face while everything spun and spun. _Great_.

“Hey, c'mon,” Dean mumbled, somehow ended up fully totally ready to go, kind of jammed up under Sam's arm with one arm slinging up over his shoulders. “Y'wanna go home?”

“Yeah, to our separate homes so you can stop asking me stupid questions.”

“Nah, I'm gonna take you home. C'mon,” he prompted again and they started walking and Sam didn't protest. He could still walk but it helped, the solid wide mass of his brother against him, one arm around his shoulders and the other on his chest, sometimes. He didn't need this help, he was accepting it because...well.

Because the world would have to be ending for him not to want this. Warm comfort, Dean bringing him home and maybe he'd stay. Maybe they'd fall asleep together on the couch or the long-lost tangled in bed situation, too drunk and tired to move or do anything embarrassing.

“Not really takin' home the prize this week,” Sam muttered since they were out the door, and Dean snorted out a laugh.

“You get jealous last week or somethin'?”

“No, shut up.”

“Yeaaah, you did,” Dean chuckled rough, big hand slipping off Sam's chest and disappearing, coming out with – jesus god why – a big silvery flask, old, new to him because Sam didn't remember it at all. Dean tipped it into his mouth and shoved it at Sam and if they didn't need more of anything, it was that, but fuck it. What more damage could it do?

Besides, you know, physical, mental, spiritual.

It tasted worse than what they were drinking in the bar but at this point, it didn't matter. Sam passed it back after a rotgut mouthful, watched Dean slip it away again. Terrible, they were both terrible.

“It's just...it's supposed to be like, us time, when we're out. And then you blew me off and it sucked.”

“You coulda picked up too. What'd you do? Just go home and cry all night?”

“I called Cas.”

“...no shit. So you _do_ talk to him about me.”

“No. Shut up. I felt down so I called him, it wasn't about you.”

“You kinda just said it was.”

“Shut up,” Sam muttered again.

Dean laughed, low and quiet. Sam felt him moving under his arm. Maybe they'd never get home, maybe they'd just keep walking forever and that'd be totally okay, totally nice, this drunken close weave through the streets with the banter that made Sam desperately uncomfortable but that he didn't want to stop either. Because if it all slipped out when he was off his ass, then it didn't count, right? Best of both worlds, having the _thing_ out in the open and getting to disclaim any kind of ownership of it. Oh, that'd be the _best_.

The rest of the walk was more of the same, more of the drinking until everything was glittery dark and nothing but Dean looked real. They tumbled into the vestibule and Sam took four tries with the keys and the elevator was too close, too hot, they didn't need to be standing like that still, arms around each other but they were and Sam couldn't even remember the last time they were here, together, going up to his place. It'd never happened after drinking, that was for sure. Always on safe terms, the safest.

Dean took the keys for the door while Sam lounged against the wall. “So here's what's gonna happen,” Dean started, scrabbling at the door, two, three tries before it pushed open. He grabbed Sam, tugged him in, and Sam wobbled to the couch, sat down heavily, sighing out and glad to be home but also not because Dean was probably going to leave now.

“What's gonna happen?” Sam prompted tiredly, struggling with getting his coat off. Dean kept his on.

“I think you should call Novak.”

“What? Why?”

Dean didn't sit beside him, Dean took the chair set conversationally near the couch. “I wanna see if he'll talk you off.”

“Oh my god, you're _obsessed_ ,” Sam muttered. But. But his fingers were in his pocket and he was bringing out his phone, considering it. And he couldn't be considering it.

Dean had his feet up on the table, looked like he was daring Sam from the raise of his eyebrows and the expectant look. “Just start with a pic or something.”

“Dean, I'm not doing it.”

“Yeah, you are. You're like, half-mast already.”

Oh god, he _was_ , and he didn't even realize it, glancing down stupid to check the status and yeah, unmistakable in his jeans and that Dean had noticed was also...something. Something bad. Or something good. Well, when it came to attention from Dean, it kind of didn't matter what kind it was. It'd just been so long since he sought it, since he let himself get bossed around like Dean used to do.

_Sit there, just watch, don't touch yourself yet, not until I say_ and then that one time _yeah, she likes that, do it harder, Sammy, atta boy_ with the girl and Dean right up against him because they were both feasting on her and – _so_ not the time for these memories.

Dean watched. Sam unlocked his phone, bit at his lip. Tasted like the rotgut from the flask and he wanted it again, wanted to see if he could taste Dean on it too.

“Are you doing it?”

Was he - ?

Sam frowned, at Dean and then down at the phone which was scrolling contacts under his thumb. Past C, past D and down and then back up and _Cas_. It said Cas Novak and he hit message and up swam a small legacy of texts, from where they'd had lunch that one time and before that, after they fucked again.

“Sammy?”

“Shut up, I'm...shut up.”

“You're a fuckin' mess.”

“Are you just gonna...sit there while I do it?”

Dean shrugged, lips pursed, sunk back deep into the chair. “Nothing I haven't seen before.”

“Yeah but...it's kinda creepy.”

“ _You're_ creepy. Just do it.”

Alright.

Yeah.

_Yeah, do it._ He pushed the little camera with his thumb and squeezed the bulge in his jeans, huffing out a whiny little noise.

“Just send him that, Sam.”

“What?”

He watched everything, Dean's eyes fixed dark on Sam and it made his stomach ripple weird, his fingers go faster.

“Just like, _that_ , your dick in your pants like that. It's hot.”

_It's hot_.

Sam wanted to make his mouth say, 'how about we don't call anyone' or something suave like that but it wasn't going. He concentrated on the picture instead and okay, it was kinda hot, hard dick in his hands, his big fist squeezing at the ridge of it. Who wouldn't want to get that?

“So just...send it?”

“Say something 'bout how you're thinkin' about him.”

“Okay,” so it went 'thinking about you all night' and then the picture and there wasn't even a typo and he watched it send and then glanced up at Dean again, the room too small and too hot and they were too far away, Dean should be on the couch with him, if he had such a fucking stake in this.

“If he calls you, then it's game on. If he just texts you, eh, then you gotta - “

Sam's phone rang, and they both looked at it.

“Well?” Dean prompted and Sam just stared at the buzzing thing in his hand.

He could cancel it easy, push of the screen, cancel it and crawl over to Dean and nudge his legs apart and settle down there for the rest of his life. Or...or answer it and, what-?

“What're you gonna do?” Sam asked, came out so stupid drunk.

“Gonna watch.”

“Dean - “

“Just shut up, answer your phone. Phone fuck the Doc.”

Sam had his mouth open, had his breath hitching and chest tight and he licked his lips and answered it, low, “Hey,” and tucked the phone neat against his ear, eyes on Dean, hand still on his dick. He'd been squeezing it the whole time, apparently. Jesus. Losing it, losing it, lost already.

“Hey yourself,” came Cas, deeper than he remembered across the lines. Kind of husky. “So what's going on? All night, huh?”

“Yeah,” Sam sighed out, forced his eyes shut; he couldn't do this staring at Dean, watching him smirk and gloat silently somehow. “Yeah. Did you like that?”

“The picture of your giant dick straining your pants? Um, yeah. So what were you thinking about specifically?”

“Are we...I mean are you - “

“Just tell me, Sam.”

God, _this_. Dean telling him what to do and now Cas, growlsome and demanding. _The two of them._

“Your mouth, mostly. Usually.”

_Forget Dean is there, you have to, or else you can't do it. Won't talk him off like he deserves if you look at Dean. Won't jerk it right if you look._

But he had to look, caught Dean licking at his lips and staring at Sam's hand. Christ, intense, dark to smouldering. Would he join? He hadn't said, Sam had asked but he hadn't said and if he was gonna, he was gonna...well.

Well, fuck.

“Yeah? Like...on your mouth, or wrapped around that big dick of yours? You freed it yet, Sam?”

“Uhh, no,” but shit, it throbbed in his pants under his hand and he teased the button, shouldn't but stared at Dean while he asked Cas, “You want me to take it out?”

“I think you better if we're actually going to do this. Drinking?”

“Yeah,” Sam sighed, swallowed, tried to look at the coffee table while he unzipped, didn't want to watch Dean while he pulled his dick out. Did and didn't. Fuck, this would be confusing even if he wasn't off his ass.

“With your brother?”

Sam hoped Dean couldn't hear that, or anything Cas was saying, actually. Seemed like he couldn't. No reaction, still staring at Sam's hand on his dick and god, why didn't he just get the fuck over here? Fuck.

“Yeah,” Sam said again, “But that's not...this isn't...it's not because of that.”

“I don't really care. I'm glad to help whatever the case.”

“Are you...you're hard too, now?”

“Yeah, the picture kinda did it.”

“Just the picture?” Sam smirked, sick sense of pride in that, wanted to show off for Dean. Like _see, see how hot he is? Just a picture where you can't even see anything and Cas is busting_.

“Got me thinking about it, so...yeah. Coincidentally, I was thinking about you gagging my throat with it.”

“Oh, god,” Sam said, thought about it, that wide mouth, warm wet heat of his throat and the way his pretty blue eyes watered up and spilled, the way his hands curled around Sam's hips but never to slow him down, to grab him like he had to hold him everywhere, like he was desperate for it. Every time. Articulating all of that was a no-go, not with all the drinking and his hand speeding with a mind of it's own over his dick.

Trying – not trying to look at Dean. Just watching from the chair and wasn't that weird? Shouldn't he do something?

“Sorry, I...not good at this,” Sam muttered in the lull, and Cas laughed, so hot, so low and rough.

“Yeah, you're _definitely_ not good at dirty talk. How drunk are you?”

“Okay, very,” Sam chuckled back, and that related him, somehow, made him slouch and shut his eyes again, tip his head back against the couch.

“But no whiskey dick?”

“Please, never. I'm a pro.”

“Yeah...one thing at a time. Tell me more 'bout your dick.”

“Uuh...it's in my hand,” Sam stuttered, “It's hard. Kinda leaky. I'm just like...going slow.”

“Hmm,” just that low hum made Sam twitch, gasp, “Wonder if I could speed things up?”

“You are, I mean...”

“I mean _seriously_. I mean, I wonder how fast I can get you off.”

“Oh. Uh.”

“Like, two minutes? If I talk about you plowing my tight ass, probably two minutes.”

“Yeah, yep, talk about that,” Sam laughed just a bit, puffed out a breath and really settled into the stroking. Half forgotten about Dean, just enough that the little bundle of nerves made him more aroused, somehow and he didn't want to go into why that was so hot.

“Bent over on the bed for you, Sam? Like, fingering myself open and begging?”

“Yeah, that'd be fun,” Sam muttered, so easy to imagine. But...but. Then he opened his eyes, tipped his head down and sure, he was staring at Dean when he said it, sure it was on purpose. “But I think I want you to ride it, Cas. You're good at it.”

He watched Dean swallow and turn pink and yeah, serves him right for sticking around. Watching like a fucking old man pervert.

Cas made the hottest little noise over the phone that made Sam's hand stroke faster, made him even wetter so he paused, smeared it around. Good. Fast was good, the sooner the better.

“Yeah, fuck, Sam, we absolutely have to do that again. Face to face, yeah?”

“Yeah, Cas, my hands on your hips. Bruising you a bit, pulling you down harder, harder until you fucking scream, until you can't even stand it. Best way to fill you up, you know. I can get all of it in like that, make you stay still until you beg.”

_Yeah, take that, lose your fucking breath Dean, I can see it, can see you over there._

“God, it's so big, Sam,” Cas said, breath, voice all choppy, “Think about it all the time, filling me up, how much bigger it feels when - “

“When you come on it, yeah, you get so fucking tight,” Sam squeezed at his dick trying to replicate but it wasn't the same, nothing was the same or that good, nothing so tight and hot, god, he was like a furnace inside every time. Shit, it was probably under two minutes and Cas had his balls ready to go already, _fuck_. “Wanna fill you all up, Cas, wanna fucking -

“Yeah, you gotta, Sam, gotta come in me so deep it won't come out, gotta hold me down and fucking pound it in even deeper, want you to blow in me for hours, all night, all day, oh my _god._ ”

Sam stripped his dick, staring at Dean and panting into the phone and imagining all of those things, shouting when he came, so loud it probably garbled up the phone or something, probably burned Cas's ear off but from the hitch of the breath, the grunt on the other end, yeah, Cas was gone too.

“Fuck,” Cas swore, swore and swore while Sam kept stroking, eyes fluttered shut at some point because it was too much, no blood in his head and everything was spinning and he just needed a rest, a break from his oppressive room and this...whatever the hell was happening. “Fuck, Sam.”

He wanted to sink into Cas's voice, huffed out breath over the phone, his dick all sticky because he'd stroked jizz all over it and maybe Cas would want a picture of that. It was probably pretty. “Yeah...yeah, same.”

“About two, I think,” he could hear the amusement in Cas's voice and that was good, right? Keeping things light.

“Shut up. You know I can go longer.”

“I know. But it's _late_ , it's like 2am if you didn't notice.”

“Shit. I didn't.”

He felt heavier somehow, now that he'd come, and that wasn't how it usually went. Heavier drunker than before, light headed and spinning with his eyes closed, everything, his head and the room and the couch so he had to open again.

Dean still there, one hand grabbing at his jeans where he was hard too, eyes wide like he got caught and Sam frowned deep, clutching at the couch so he didn't tip off.

“Take it out,” he said, tongue thick, phone still there but forgotten, laser focused on Dean. “Take it out,” he said again, “I'll...lemme..lemme take care of it for you, I wanna see.”

“Sam? Who are you - “

Didn't hear it. Plowed on. Onto, “Dean, please?” while he just stared, his brother just stared and then stood and came closer and Sam's heart pounded so hard he could see it and this was it, it was happening.

But.

Just a clap on his shoulder with his hand, a “Good job, buddy,” and he walked away and -

“No, no, Dean, don't, just stay, we can - “

“Dean's there?” Cas, tinny in his ear. “Sam, what's _happening_?”

Door shut. Clicked shut so loud, everyone had to hear, loud like a bomb and Cas like a fly in his ear, buzzing, buzzing, _why why why, you owe him an explanation_.

He couldn't talk. Couldn't breathe for a panicky second while everything tilted sharp and Sam threw himself to where Dean had been, the seat still warm, didn't smell like him but he could curl up here anyway.

“Sam! Jesus christ, what the fuck - “

“'M sorry,” he muttered, elated to miserable in no time at all, no time to adjust. “He was...he left. He..fuck.”

“Should I come over?”

Should he? Ever? Ever have come over even once?

Sam sighed and it rattled out of his chest and he was probably crying but everything was terrible and hot and wet and his pants were still undone, jizz smeared everywhere and he just wanted to sleep cramped up in this Dean-warmed chair. He didn't fit. Never did.

“No,” Sam said, eventually, tried to make his voice even. It barely worked. “No, tomorrow,” he muttered, eyes scrunched closed, free hand clutching hard at his shoulder where Dean had touched him. “We'll talk about it tomorrow, 'kay?”

“Yeah. Okay. As long as you're - “

“M never okay,” Sam mumbled. Maybe the only true thing he'd said all night. Fuck him. “Night, Cas.”

Hung up before Cas could say anything else. Prayed he wasn't speeding over. No. He'd keep his word. No one came and Sam passed out-fell asleep, no difference, fitful and terrible either way.

 

* * *

 

Next day was rough. Tough. Early. Sam got in four hours of sleep, not enough to really sober up and shake it off. He showered cold and poured down coffee and sat in his boring ass nondescript van. Another tail, another man with too much money away on a business trip. Sucked how this was most of his work.

Seven am and he drove behind the predictably blonde wife to the gym. Debated going in. He couldn't possibly fake being awake enough to gallop on some treadmill for 45 minutes while Blondie hauled Barbie weights around and showed off her expensive rack. Well, if she was cheating on her husband in the gym in 52 minutes, as Sam timed it, so be it. She was off the hook. Take a pass, Blondie.

Sam didn't follow her back home. Couldn't muster the care. He'd get paid either way.

He had an office. He wasn't there much, but he pulled into the parking lot and sat in the van with his head against the wheel and marked every angry red stab to his brain for a few minutes. At least, with that to focus on, nothing else crept up for a while.

He actually fell asleep. First time for everything. Phone buzzing in his lap woke him up and thank fuck it was just a text. Made him smile actually, even though it hurt. Just Dean, and just 'How's your head, champ?' so hey, hey that was good. Better than nothing

'Bad. We're old. Can't do that anymore.'

'Speak for yourself, I'm just fine.'

'Had work at dawn.'

'Ouch.'

'We're good?'

'Always. Tonight?'

'No way. Gimme a few days.'

That was it from Dean. It made Sam feel weird, worse, because Dean wanted to go out again? And do _what_?

He made it all the way into his office, the big second floor of a six floor building, half vacant. Big and white. Too big for just him and his desk and some maps and shit on the walls but it was cheap as dirt and no one bugged him. There was a desk near the front that no one used, ostensibly for a secretary. Bunched up cubicle parts around the edges of a big open space and then, past that, was Sam's office with a bunch of windows, plain modular desk, actual land line that almost never rang anymore, computer, books books books. Somewhere in a cardboard box was his law degree. It should be up on the wall. It wasn't.

So he made it that far, sat down on the big chair that yes he'd spoiled himself by buying, and had his feet up on the windowsill, enjoyed the grey autumn morning view before, fuck it, he texted Cas.

'We're good?'

It was a while; maybe Cas liked to sleep in and it was only, what, nine? No, he'd be up. Appointment maybe. Sam wondered when Dean went. Was he allowed to ask even that? So he knew when to avoid the whole area.

But then, 'For our appointment?'

'For everything?'

'Oh, Sam, of course we are. We have to talk, but we're going to do that anyway.'

No one texted quite like that, besides Cas, fully conversational so Sam felt like they were actually talking and not sniping at each other. He liked it. Liked just about everything about Cas.

'Yeah. Just making sure.'

'You can come early, if you'd like.'

Sam grinned. Yep. Early.

Two hours later, after he'd managed a diner breakfast. He debated getting something for Cas, like...like what? Flowers? Donuts? There was no etiquette he knew about for this shit storm situation so he only brought himself, much more awake which was actually worse because now there was just this whole _thing_ to think about, like one separate thing and then two other _things_ with Cas and then with Dean. Enough time to think about it that he dragged himself morose up to Cas's door and didn't knock, just pushed in and plodded to the kitchen, where he knew Cas was.

Overly familiar now, with the whole place. Getting there with Cas. It was really nice, actually.

Cas was at the counter, at the coffee maker as always, making sure it was fresh. Sam had had enough to see through space but he wouldn't say no to more.

“Is that you, Sam?” Cas half-turned, knew it was but Sam still strayed in the doorway, leaned on it, watched him. The little curls of blackish brown hair around the back of his neck, how they curved against his skin under his ears, how he was so soft there, like a kitten. Lovely. Lovely was a good word for Cas, pouring two mugs of coffee for them, in oversized sweats and a perfectly sized t-shirt that was the bluest sky and Sam could not believe he was still here for him.

He crossed the kitchen in two big steps and wrapped around Cas from behind, nosed into his hair and closed his eyes and sunk into the warmth and the tight weirdness, strange emotions. He didn't care to decipher them right now. Just _Cas,_ relaxing back into his arms and humming happy and he was so perfect like that, easy against Sam. So easy. Shouldn't be so easy.

“You,” Sam grumbled into his hair before he rested his chin on Cas's shoulder. “Don't deserve you, y'know. As anything, as a therapist or a..a...”

“Right,” Cas chuckled, sliding his hands along Sam's arms, clutched around his waist, “You can say boyfriend, or partner, or any number of other things.”

“I've always liked 'pal'. Or buddy. Maybe bro. Gentleman associate.”

“Okay, _whatever_ you like, but you do deserve it, at least.”

Sam grunted in answer.

No one moved.

It was _nice_ , warm kitchen on a shitty day and Cas against him and the coffee smelling like heaven and Sam kind of always wanted to be here. Fuck his office, fuck his empty apartment. It _came_ furnished and it was for fucking business jerks. Fuck his big lonely life. He just wanted Cas's place, with the wood everywhere and the plants and the coziness. Just wanted Cas.

“Should we go and talk?”

Sam grunted again and Cas laughed and peeled away, spun and kissed Sam's cheek and shoved a coffee at him. “Before it gets cold, come.” Cas started but held his hand out behind his back, fingers waggling.

Sam grabbed him and followed, not so nervous, now, with the talk they were going to go through. It was Cas. It was just Cas and it was only Cas and yeah, he would tell him everything, anything.

He laid on the couch, his head in Cas's lap, Cas's hand in his hair, looking down. Sometimes Sam closed his eyes, sometimes he watched Cas. Sometimes out the window. Softly, he recounted the night, clear as he could. It still didn't make a lot of sense.

“So he kept asking about us,” Cas said, finally, after Sam was done, after a moment of contemplation.

“Yeah. He wanted to know and...you know I'm weak. Weak with him, so, I told him, but not exactly everything. Like, he doesn't know _everything_.”

“Of course not.”

“He did kind of...tell me he's slept with guys before too.”

When he felt Cas's breathing stop for a second, Sam opened his eyes, curious, but there was no reading Cas. “How did that make you feel?”

“Shitty,” Sam huffed out in a broken kind of laugh. “Still shitty today. Probably shitty forever. So I kinda expected him to do it again this week, but...nope. Duped _me_ instead. I guess what I'm annoyed at is...I mean, I totally went along with it. Almost no hesitation.”

“You had been drinking.”

“Yeah, but...god, Cas, he coulda said, 'here Sammy, take this gun and go rob that liquor store', and I woulda been like, sure thing, Dean! And gone and done that shit. Except with _this_ scenario, I got to have like, all this stupid false hope about us doing that stuff we used to do. That was why I did it.”

“I know.”

“I wasn't...I didn't mean to use you like that.” God, there was a lump in his throat and he had to fight to stay where he sat, and only because Cas's hand in his hair felt so good, that was the only reason he didn't move. So good.

“It's okay, Sam. We aren't always in full control, especially with the drinking. And Dean has a history of this.”

“Of...what?”

“Coercing you into situations. At least, I think so.”

“Oh.” Sam did open his eyes but not to look at anything in particular. Just...if he was looking at the ceiling, he wasn't as easily picturing Dean with that crooked smile and the way he'd smack his shoulder and say _c'mon, Sammy_ about just about everything Sam had ever hesitated on.

_C'mon, Sammy, take this last shot._

_C;mon, Sammy, you can hustle these guys._

_C'mon, Sammy, she's hot and she thinks it's cute, you watching._

_C'mon, Sammy, get your dick out._

But.

That was his brother. He'd do anything for Dean. And that had limits?

Sam sat up, grabbed for his coffee, stayed beside Cas but less touching now. Just their legs, jammed together at the thighs, and their elbows, depending on how they moved. Sam still wanted to bury himself in Cas's neck and stay there forever, until he felt better. If he'd ever feel better.

“Tell me about the phone call?”

“He watched,” Sam said, immediately, quietly, a little dreamy because the whole thing was hazy and weird, drunk memories and boy, he'd been unreasonably intoxicated. Like college drunk. Which was Dean, of course, plying him with drinks. Maybe he'd planned the whole thing. “He, uh, he told me to send that picture. And he sat there, like,” Sam pointed to the chair nearby, the one he used to inhabit, “Like he was there and I was where you are. Kind of. So, close. I was already hard, I forget...what we were talking about. I'm kind of glad I don't remember, jesus.”

“It's alright. So you sent the picture and I called - “

“He said it was _hot_. The picture. Jesus, and I just believed him, I got all fucking proud and excited because whoa hey, he thinks my dick's hot. Stupid.”

“You're not stupid.” Cas said, soft, his hand sliding up Sam's neck, up into his hair again. God, the way his fingertips felt, Sam relaxed immediately. It was like a spell, it was unfair how he melted for Cas. “Did he give you more instructions beyond that? Or tell you what to say?”

“No,” Sam said, a little shyly, half-remembering some of the shit that fell out of his mouth. “No, that was all me.” He leaned over, better against Cas's hand, their shoulders together. Perfect, so close to perfect. “I uh...he watched though. The whole thing. And he definitely got hard.”

“Interesting.”

“And then he left. Well, no there was...I felt like there was this moment where he wanted to stay?”

“And you told him you'd take care of it?”

“Oh god. Yeah. I did say that. That's kind of...porno of me. But I swear he considered it.”

“What did you want to happen there, Sam?”

Sam puffed out a sharp breath at the question, the answers branching off innumerably. “Like, a million things,” he said out loud right away, lest he be caught in the trap of his treacherous mind. “I wanted to crawl over to him and stuff his dick in my mouth. Wanted him to come over to me and just get in my lap. Wanted to kiss him like that. He'd be so big and warm and...it would've been so nice.”

“Pick one?”

Well, it was Tuesday.

But he _wanted_ Cas to be mad at him, because it was a fucked up thing he did. But Cas was too smart, too rational all the time. If it was _him_ he'd be pissed. Or maybe just sad.

Cas didn't look sad though, when Sam turned his head. He looked interested and soft-faced, smiling a bit. Yeah, _soft_ and pretty and even through the fucked up circumstances the night before, Sam _had_ been thinking about him, even if he was staring at Dean.

And even now.

_Tuesday_.

Sam shook his head, moved back into laying on Cas's lap. The sweatpants were soft too, and warm and his dick was _right_ there in a gentle ripple of fabric. _That_ was the dick that had popped his cherry, not Dean's. He melted into the hand in his hair again, turned and nuzzled up against the bulge.

Cas. Anyone else would have run by now.

“No, I just want you. Right now. Last night too. I mean, you were really good at that.”

“I wasn't on speaker, was I?”

“Oh my god, no,” Sam laughed, felt it stretch easily across his face. “But, if he asked, I woulda done it.”

Maybe then Dean would have jerked off, so okay, that was worth a thought. Or not, no, seeing it would be worse now. Right? Sam wasn't sure.

“I said some things that, if he'd heard them, probably would have required explanation.”

“Yeah, well, he already knows I want his dick. And he _left_ over that, so I'd probably be sporting a black eye if he'd heard the rest.”

“He didn't sound angry, from what you said.”

“And, he texted me this morning.”

“Saying?”

“Asking if I was okay. And then I asked if we were good and he said, get this, 'always'. What's that mean? And he wanted to go out again tonight.”

“Are you?”

“No, are you kidding? I literally feel like trash. Pretty sure he'd be going out regardless, so I'm not too broken up or anything.”

That was pretty routine, since college. Before that, a bit, but every time he visited in California, they went out. And after. Any night of the week. Sam didn't doubt Cas knew all this already. He might even know more about Dean than Sam did, at this point, and that was a strange thought. But then...he didn't know Dean so well as he thought.

What _did_ Cas know?

“We could do something tonight, though,” Sam suggested, blinking up. His cheek still rested very carefully against Cas's sweatpants-dick, and he swore he felt it twitch a bit. “I should take you out again.”

“You _just_ said you felt like trash.”

“You make me feel better, though.”

“I cure your hangover.” Cas said, plain, skeptical, but the sides of his mouth were tugging up.

“Mhm,” Sam hummed and couldn't resist anymore, rubbed his cheek over Cas's clothed crotch, humming again, happily, nuzzling and palming and fuck it, even sniffing until Cas got hard.

Not protesting either, like he might have done even a week before but that's because it was _them_ , Sam figured, not some proxy fuck. And it fucking _worked_. The two of them really worked.

Sam still asked, “Okay?” while he rolled off the couch and planted between Cas's legs, waited for that terse little nod before he grinned and dove back in. Already he was getting hard too, jammed up in his jeans, quickly becoming hard to ignore but...Cas kind of deserved this attention, right now. Like, an apology blow job. That was normal, right?

Whatever. Whatever you call it, Sam needed it.

He grabbed at Cas though the pants, mouthed at him until the sweats were dark and wet and Cas had a tight grip on his hair and he couldn't wait anymore, tugging at Cas's pants until they slid down. Sam went right for his dick again like a magnet, big fist around the thick length, tongue oustretched, easily moving with Cas as he slouched down lower, both hands on Sam's head.

The one in his hair was the best, always tugging and stroking, encouraging and comfortable and then the other hand was cupping his cheek, grasping a little harder, thumbing at his lips and tracing the stretch of them when Sam sank down and down. “So eager today,” Cas mumbled.

Sam looked up at him and blinked, eyes wide; Cas was gorgeous, mouth half open with his tongue poking at the bottom lip, making it all shiny, eyes darkest blue and slow blinking, red creeping up into his cheeks. God, the way he looked.

And then, “You're so beautiful, Sam.”

And even with a mouthful of dick, Sam managed a gasp and let his eyes flutter shut, pushed himself down further around Cas's dick because oh my god, if he didn't, he might cry. He felt it, the tight pull in his chest and the burn in his throat, in his nose and if he didn't keep sucking dick, he'd be sobbing.

No one had ever said that before, and he didn't know what to do about it. Was it even true? Usually, he shrugged off compliments with ease, but usually they were...they were the Dean-style 'good job, buddy' and slaps on the back or randos claiming 'I've never come that hard before' while Sam got dressed fast and prepared his exit.

But _beautiful_ and Cas so sincere, always, always.

Sam sort of loved him, felt it in a hot rush all over his body, making his head floaty, spacey, happy. Happy.

Not just _occupied_ or content or deflecting, as he often was on his knees like this, gagging on cock, but actually happy, like some weird whirlwind was sweeping him up and he was fairly certain he was actually sobbing a bit, around Cas's dick, but it was lost in the moans and the obscenities and everything else.

_So beautiful_.

Even when Cas shot down his throat with a death-grip on his hair, on his jaw, Sam heard it in his head, eyes shining staring up, face wet and who cared what those tears were for, really? Cas said it again when he tugged him back up, when Sam mounted his lap and wrapped himself up in Cas so fiercely.

Love he knew, but this wasn't so edged. This didn't hurt. This was soft and warm and wet and hard and this was good.

 


	8. Chapter 8

This late, the afternoon started looking like nighttime. Felt like it too. Dean's car took longer to start up but, he managed to be on time again. Could've used the excuse but fuck everything, he was looking forward to seeing Cas. Just to talk, just to see how fucked up he was about everything, to watch him straddle lines and get all jammed up.

It was teenage reckless and he should know better. And he did. But it was still fun.

He didn't knock.

But he let the door slam a little harder than necessary, stomped in a bit louder. Waited for the, “Dean?” from the kitchen before he really came in, down that little hall beside the stairs with its weirdo Harry Potter cupboard door and all this beautiful trim and a brass knob and an old telephone set into an alcove with some plants.

This house, Dean fucking loved this house, fingertips drifting along the sightly tacky wood on the way past.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said, still a bit louder than he needed to be until he was in the kitchen. Same dark wood and lowish ceilings, low doorways. He didn't hit his head but he wondered if Sam did. Wondered if Sam loomed in his doorway like this and watched Cas too. He probably didn't knock either.

And did Cas ever turn around and give Sam _this_ disapproving look? Because yikes, it actually made Dean shiver for a minute, so cutting and sharp and steely eyed.

“Oh boy,” Dean muttered, but it wasn't discreet or quiet or to himself at all, making a show of everything. Rolling his eyes, sidling over to Cas to grab the surplus mug of coffee that was clearly intended for him. “That's the 'we've got to talk' face, isn't it?”

“I believe that's what you're paying for,” Cas reminded him, sweeping past and he smelled like he'd just showered, fresh and clean and all natural scents, nothing to cover anything up. Dean followed behind him too close so the scent just trailed back.

_Yeah, time to do something about this._

Dean took the couch and draped across it, facing Cas, one leg stretched and the other dangling onto the floor. Not comfortable but it didn't have to be. Wouldn't be staying like that for long anyway.

Cas was all business, in his chair and upright, notebook out and balanced and pen uncapped and ready to go. “Why don't you start with what happened this past week.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“Do I really have to be?”

“Thought you weren't supposed to cross the streams or whatever.”

Cas's downward glance and deep little frown were immensely satisfying.

“I can make exceptions for things I've actually witnessed.”

“Well, I mean, you were on the _phone_ , right? You weren't _actually_ there.”

“I heard enough.”

“Plus I'm sure Sammy told you everything anyway.”

“Some, but I'm interested in your version.”

Dean laughed, slouched back deeper against the couch. “Oh yeah, I bet you are. _Real_ interested. You got that big ol' notebook to cover up the extent of your interest, I see.”

Cas shifted a bit, looked up at Dean again with very plain disappointment and wow, why did that stab him in the guts like that?

“So tell me about that night.”

Okay, they were doing this.

Dean pursed his lips and shoved one hand behind his back, the other clutching at the coffee, warm and beautifully distracting, giving him something dark to stare at that wasn't Cas's stormy-mad eyes.

“Usual kinda night. Once or twice a week, we get together and get hammered. And we were exceptionally sauced. Well. Sammy was. I was about even. Pretty normal for that kinda get-together.”

Cas made little notes and Dean watched the precise markings of his pen, wondered what they were. “What do you talk about, when you get together like that? And was the conversation this time any different?”

“Well....he kept wanting to talk about _you_ , actually, Doc. And I was like, no whoa, too much information, you keep that shit to yourself. I don't wanna get into whatever creepy ass thing you two got going on. Like that's private, y'know? I don't wanna hear about it.”

More of Cas writing, probably writing LIES in some big blocky scrawl because they both knew full well that wasn't Sam. Dean wondered how much he could get away with.

“What was he saying, exactly?”

“That you two fuck around. That he can do _whatever_ he wants to you and call it _therapy_. That true, Doc?”

“We've talked about that manner of therapy, Dean.”

“That a yes or a no? I mean, I'm not calling him a liar but it _does_ seem kinda far-fetched, don't you think?”

“I can only tell you that if we were engaging in that kind of therapy, there would be boundaries within reason, but for the sake of wellness and exploration, sure, it _would_ be whatever you want.”

“And that extends to after-hours phone sex, huh?”

Cas's face tensed, darkened slightly scary, eyes fixed on the notebook again, hand moving in quick little scribbles like he wasn't writing anything at all, like Dean was getting to him and that felt good and bad at the same time. What _was_ that?

“I provide a therapeutic outlet and sometimes it doesn't fall within the confines of office hours.”

“You don't need to play coy, I was literally there, like you said.”

“How did you end up going home with Sam? That doesn't usually happen.”

“You're an expert?”

Cas quirked an eyebrow, tongue poking at his cheek for a second. _Busted_. “From how I understand it.”

“Uh huh. Well, I kinda had to walk him home, he was really messed up.”

“If he'd been _less_ messed up, you wouldn't have?”

“Nah, probably not. Kid's got a good sense of direction, he coulda figured it out. But in this case, it woulda been irresponsible to do that, y'know? Like, I didn't spent twenty years raising that brat to have him get hit by a truck or fuckin' mugged or something. So write down 'domineering' or 'daddy complex' or whatever you want there, Doc.”

“You can call me Cas, if you want.”

Dean's eyebrows shot up, amused, a little laugh dying in his throat. “Oh yeah?”

Cas glared though, nothing terribly friendly about it. “The way you say _Doc_ is clearly meant to needle at me.”

“Do you feel _needled_ by it?”

“No. But I feel as though you're trying to upset me with your tone, so I'd rather you stop.”

“But I can say your name in the exact same way. _Cas_.”

“Or you could treat me like an actual fellow human being.”

Cas's look wasn't the glare now or the disappointment but actually a little sad and that made Dean vastly uncomfortable. Itchy and restless and he swung his legs off the couch, set the coffee down, scooted over to the cushion closer to the doctor.

Little pause to fake-gather himself, a quiet sigh, sad half-smile-half-frown. He'd touch Cas if he was closer but settled for his hand on the arm of Cas's chair, index finger reaching delicately towards him.

The quiet, “Sorry, Doc,” with no malice in the word this time.

“It's difficult to talk about this without you getting defensive. I understand. But you don't need to do that here.”

Okay, well, angrily, under the act Dean felt himself soft of soften, inside, but there were layers, so _that_ wasn't what he was showing. Nope. That facade of emotion was what he _wanted_ , it wasn't informed by any of the dumb shit things he felt. Definitely not. He'd just frame a better story that didn't make him look...

Look like what? Like a pervert? Who cares about that? That's private, personal. But okay, being perverted on your own, that was fine, but wasn't it a little more, a little deeper when he started bringing Sam into it? Again? _Fuck_.

He kind of wished he didn't remember it so clearly. Not enough booze even though he'd had more than enough. Still. The lies rolled easy.

“It's just hard, seeing Sammy like that, I guess.”

“Like what?”

“So...sad.” Something in his chest constricted when he said it, too real. “I mean, he's better than he used to be but there's still this...look, this vibe sometimes. Like...like he's lost. So, yeah, I wanted to make sure he got home okay and didn't do anything stupid. Course, no sooner do I get him water? Then he's on the goddamned phone with you with his dick out.”

“But you stayed.”

Yeah. No matter who told it, no matter what spin he put on it, that one little fact remained, that he stayed and even in this fabrication where he hadn't orchestrated the whole thing, he stayed long after he should have. And in the _reality_ where he pushed Sam into it, he stayed. And watched and felt this terrible longing for the teenage shit they used to do.

Those stupid noises Sam used to make before his voice dropped down, whining and sharp and the most beautiful hint of desperation; How he'd stare and stare at Dean even though it was vastly inappropriate, even in the daylight or in that treehouse they had once, or the back of the car; And how Dean got to bear witness to short limbs stretching long, too long and awkward and thin and at odds with his sweet face, and then too powerful, like porno hot body and Sam totally unaware of it which made it worse, so much worse.

Different now though, when Dean had been hunched in the chair in the fucking dark living room, watching the weird little show like some fringe theatre. Was it different because he'd set it all up? Different because it'd been so long? Different because Sam was different, because he was different?

“Yeah, so I stayed,” Dean said, at length, meaning for it to come out gruff but his voice didn't sound like that at all, it drifted out soft and touched and he hated that. “We used to do that shit. Like how kids do, y'know? Showin' off. Close quarters, we had to. So it wasn't weird. Or...I dunno. I don't know why I stayed.”

“You just sat and watched.”

“Yeah.”

“How did you feel?”

“Drunk. I dunno.”

“Did you want to - “

“I didn't want to do _anything_ , okay? I stayed, I perved out my little brother for like, the first time in a long time but also for probably the millionth time. He didn't ask me to leave either, so maybe you should be asking him what the deal is.”

Dean frowned after the outburst, muttered an apology and really, really wanted to leave. He knew where the door was, he could just go, get in his car and speed away and maybe never even see Cas again because this wasn't how it was supposed to be going, bleeding himself dry.

“All those other times, did you ever want to do more?”

Hah. _Fuck this shit._

Dean huffed an annoyed laugh, hook his head, waggled a finger at Cas, all movement and he really should get up and leave now. Absolutely blow this place. “Well, that's fuckin' sick. You're sick, Doc. For even asking.”

“That's quite the reaction.”

“Okay, you can fuck right off.”

“I'm not accusing you of anything.”

“No? You kinda implied I wanted to bad touch my little brother.”

“Any implication in the question is your own.”

“Question's yours so I don't know where that leaves us. _Cas_.”

“You could answer it.”

He _could_. Sure, he could. But it felt much better to ignore it and call Cas out and glare and feel his pulse pick up angry. Yeah, that's what it was, fist-clenching jaw flexing anger.

“Why? Aren't we both fucked up enough? You gotta make more shit for us to get all fucked up over? Think I'm done talking about this. About _Sam_.”

“Dean...he was willing to - “

“He was _drunk_. And you're just jealous, cause he was on the phone with you, sure, but he was staring at me the whole goddamned time.”

“What does that mean, do you think? What does it mean to you that he was doing that?”

“Oh, for the love of god, I don't fucking know. I said he was _drunk_ , probably just means I was the closet warm body. Probably woulda offered himself up to anyone.”

“But it was you.”

“Stop looking for dirt where there isn't any, Cas. So okay, yeah, I definitely watched Sam jerkin' off to your dirty talk, which, by the way, you must be really good at because that took like, no time at all. Maybe you got a little side job or something? I'm not judging you.”

Maybe he'd drop it now, maybe this was enough to make him fucking drop it before Dean started spilling shit he wasn't even supposed to be thinking let alone saying out loud _with his mouth_ to Cas and his stupid little notebook, recording it for all time. He didn't need that shit looming.

“Why did you leave when you did?” Cas asked, eyebrows raised. Dean didn't answer, so he kept going. “Sam was asking you not to leave, and you did anyway.”

Okay, yeah, that happened. Next morning it seemed awful. He'd never be able to get that back. Sam needed him and he'd left because...because...

“If I stayed any longer,” Dean started, slow, only a vague idea of what to say, “Sam woulda got the wrong idea.”

“Which would be?”

“Cas....c'mon. I don't wanna...whatever you think is going on, it isn't. I don't have any feelings or _urges_ or whatever. I shoulda left before it escalated even that far, but I didn't mean anything by doing _anything_. We were hammered and this is shit we used to do and it just happened again, no big deal, okay?”

“Sure, Dean,” Cas said, in that placating open ended way that made Dean's blood boil. “Maybe you should tell me what you'd like to talk about, so we're not wasting each other's time.”

Shouldn't be so fucking hot when he's angry. Maybe angry wasn't the word for how Cas looked. Stern? Yeah. Sam probably never got to see this, the firm set of his jaw and the dark flash of his eyes and boy, was Sam ever missing out.

They talked about childhood shit for a while – there was a lot there to occupy Cas and fifty more therapists, Dean knew, but also, a lot that felt good to get out. He didn't even realize that was a _thing_ but it made sense, since his main focus growing up was always on Sam or else on his dad, raising one, keeping the other out of trouble. Making sure there was at least bread and peanut butter. And a lot of kids had it worse, he knew that, so it was better not to bellyache, at least at the time.

But now he was telling Cas about his first job, tender little 14 at a coffee shop in a cool college town, night shift but how he always left early to make sure Sam was in bed. Even turned down what would have been his first girlfriend, although he didn't remember her name. Just that “she was sixteen and like, the Phoebe Cates kinda sixteen, y'know? Porky's sixteen, Meatballs sixteen. At least that's how I remember it.”

He glossed over the part where he and Sam shared beds for the whole seven months they were there, how he still remembered his brother wide-eyed peeking from under the covers at him propped up watching bad motel porn and jerking off and it wasn't very long before Sam asked what he was doing. They were maybe a year out from that. Maybe not that much.

Not that it mattered.

He wasn't saying anything else to Cas about it, just to have his words twisted all up because Cas had some kind of incest fetish. He could be a freak in his own time, that wasn't what Dean was paying for.

Course, he wasn't really sure _what_ he was paying for yet.

The hour closed fast. Cas wasn't awkward about it, just did the old watch check and set his notebook aside and Dean was basically worn out by that point anyway.

“Next week?” Cas asked.

Dean frowned before he answered. Really thought about it. Sure, he'd wanted to scram early but then the actual talking felt fucking good, god help him. So, “Yeah,” he said, standing up, rubbing the sweat from his palms on his jeans. “Thinking about...making one of those other appointments. The uh, special kind.”

“Why.” Cas stated more than asked, not moving, staring up.

“What we talked about the first time. Me bein'...romantic with guys or whatever. I wanna try it.”

There was just the most absolute quiet. Even the birds outside went still and soundless and there was no wind, no squirrels scrabbling around out there, last ditch digging up their food for winter consumption. Nope, there was just Dean's heavy breathing and Cas's fucking dead sexy glare.

“Do you have the rest of the day off?” Cas asked, plain. Appointment scheduling, really, businesslike, brisk. But. Dean knew what it meant. Meant _now_.

Hah, but holy shit that was easy. Dean was almost disappointed there was no fight but hey, saves time. He grinned, one eyebrow arching up just a little, eyes cast down on Cas and he knew they were all thick lashes and whatever green he was that moment, probably dark because he felt like that right now.

“Yeah,” Dean said, “Y'know, I never paid for it before.”

And Cas laughed, and yeah, that was good.

 

* * *

 

It escalated quickly, mostly because Dean escalated it. Whatever this upstairs bedroom thing was, he liked it. Cozy small with the softest sheets, although they had nothing on Cas's soft skin under his cheek. It barely lasted, that innocent cuddling, before Dean started kissing him, remembering to make it tentative and sweet. He'd had a lot of practice at first kisses, spent a lot of his teens pretending over and over at first times.

Sometimes he still did it with guys too. Like he was doing with Cas.

Odds were 50-50 he'd end up on his knees on any given night. Like he was doing with Cas.

Cat sat bench at the end of the bed, pretty convenient, and Dean peeled his pants off slow, gave the breathiest gasp he could at Cas's dick, watching it slap up against his stomach.

Okay, the gasp was half true because Cas was big and such dark red, unexpectedly and, surprise, uncut. Dean's favourite, so more than half of that noise was odious. As was his sort of shocked expression because this was just a really nice dick and he was kind of a connoisseur and if this wasn't Cas, like, if he wasn't lying about a whole bunch of shit, he'd have snapped off fifteen pictures of himself with that dick in his mouth already.

“You don't have to do anything you don't want,” Cas reminded him, not for the first time, gentle and coaxing through Dean's acted stops and Dean was kind of glad he'd opted for the storyline because this totally ready to go dick was the reward.

Yeah, by _now_ he'd probably be riding it with the camera propped up on that chair by the corner so he could watch it later.

Over and over and over.

No, this was his very first time sucking dick, which he was surprised Cas bought.

Now he had to warm up to it. Pretend he didn't know what he was doing which was kind of hot in it's own way because yeah, another little gasp and his hand tentatively shot out, palm sliding along Cas's shaft and he twitched into his hand and made the nicest growly noise. Dean couldn't wait.

He squeezed harder, stroked down until the shiny wet head popped free, so slick that Dean stopped thinking and went in with his tongue stuck out, licking up the mess while Cas dripped more and slid one of his hands around the back of Dean's neck. Not hard like he was used to, no fingertips biting into his chin or tugging at his short hair. Just gentle and patient Cas and Dean kind of wished he'd do something urging or borderline violent, just for familiarity's sake. Just so Dean had something to react to that wasn't the soft contact.

He was aware how fucked up that was.

But this was his bed now.

So he looked up with his mouth parting around Cas's dark head, down and up, tongue out and then asked, “Is this okay?”

Goddamn, Cas was unreadable at best, even with the distraction of getting his dick sucked. Stone-faced but still reactive somehow, his other hand gentle on Den's cheek, tracing his lips; Dean chased his fingertips with his tongue, watched him shudder a bit.

“You didn't have to lie,” Cas said.

Dean blinked once, twice, didn't want to but pulled back just a bit. “What d'you mean?”

Cas's hands were still around his face, still soft, no insistence at all. “If you needed to replicate your first time or...whatever's happening here.”

“Cas,” Dean panted. Why were they talking, what happened to the dick sucking? Maybe if he just did it, Cas would shut up. “I dunno what you're talking about.” Dean tried his sweetest expression, all blinking and eyelashes, pouting just a bit, just the most he could get away with without being obvious.

Maybe it worked, maybe it didn't but he felt Cas's grip change on his face, twitch harder and he had ample opportunity to pull away, if he wanted, but no.

So Dean won.

And Dean decided to stop playing at virgin because Cas was the only one losing out on that score and well, that wasn't fair. Cas was going to say something, Dean felt it, saw it in his eyes and he didn't give him the chance. Deep breath in through his nose and Dean unhinged, closed his eyes and swallowed and swallowed and _there_ , now Cas couldn't possibly talk.

So parts of the game were up, but new things were afoot behind Cas's dark blue eyes, in the surprised, contemplative crease of his forehead. His hands were still very much on Dean's face and not even that much harder.

Sometimes time bent weird when Dean had his mouth full of dick; always nice when that happened, nice to give himself over to the heat under his tongue and the fingers sweeping over his stretched mouth, choked little noises and wow, Cas made such nice noises, like they were getting pulled out of him dick first and yeah, they kinda were.

Then Dean had his own dick out because there was no other choice with the way it jammed against his pants, threatening a mess and anyway, he liked to show it off. Made sure Cas saw his hand wrap around it, stroking slow while he kept sucking him off like he was getting paid for it and not the opposite.

Well, whatever, Cas was hot and he had more than enough money to throw at him in the guise of therapy. And his hands were still so gentle, carding through his hair, coaxing and relaxing and he wasn't even fucking Dean's face, he was still just letting him do it and when was the last time that happened? Usually it felt like he went twelve rounds with a heavyweight by the time he ended up getting up off his knees but this..fuck.

This felt downright _sweet_.

Thought he'd need more but by the time Cas was giving him a warning, so polite, seriously, Dean felt his own dick fattening in his hand, spilling right when the first salty shot of Cas's come hit the back of his throat. He couldn't tell which groans were who's, they were just loud and deep and growling together and he kept going until he'd sucked Cas basically dry, until he was breathless from it, until Cas's always gentle hands stroked at his forehead and through his hair again.

“You can get up,” Cas said, kind of hoarse.

Well, that was abrupt.

Way more familiar. Dean's usual territory.

Dean shrugged, got up on slightly wobbly legs and went for the artless pile of his clothes. Cas's hand closed around his arm, tugged him back towards the bed.

“I meant off the floor, Dean, you don't have to leave. You shouldn't leave.”

Dean felt stupid, mute for a while, half turning. Cas's hand slipped away and he watched him sprawl out on the bed, naked and unashamed and stretching like a cat in the sun and this was the part where Dean was _supposed_ to leave. Wasn't it?

“Why not?” Dean asked, slow, like it was a trap. Kinda felt like a trap and not the one he'd set anymore.

“Because, you always leave, right?” Cas said, almost tiredly. “So don't this time. Stay. See what happens.”

“You just wanna get paid overtime. Or talk about how that was like, one hell of a first time blow job.”

“Well, maybe. Maybe not. You won't know unless you stay.”

It did look nice. It _had_ been nice, before, all crammed up against Cas and like, cuddling, like how people did. People in movies mostly, or at the beginning of porn sometimes. Like how he used to when he was younger, with girls, with Sam. Just...he didn't usually taste jizz on his tongue. With the girls, means to an end and with Sam...well. They just did that. Didn't mean anything.

Well, fuck it.

“Doctor's orders, right?” Dean said, _had_ to say while he got on board, literally and figuratively. It was the right call, letting his sex-tired limbs relax, letting his head tentatively rest on Cas's shoulder, and then his chest when he squirmed closer. Felt good.

Felt like he was gonna go broke.

 

* * *

 

Sam cooked, like people did on dates. He cooked and now Cas tucked under his arm on the couch and they had wine. Grown up, adult Saturday night date, like maybe they hadn't met through such weird means. Not that Sam really felt hung up on that but he never expected to be in a relationship with someone knowing all his secrets. So many secrets.

Despite that, or because of it, this felt supremely comfortable.

From experience, that didn't last. Comfort. Sam felt it sinking away slow motion when Cas tipped his head up towards him, blinked, brow creasing.

“I have something to tell you.”

There it was. Right on time.

Sam swallowed and nodded, trying to grasp at _what_ but there were like, a thousand things it could be, more than a thousand things they should be talking about. And maybe it was about _Dean_. That one stuck and gave Sam a prickle of excitement.

“Alright, let's hear it.”

Cas stalled, looking away, frowning. Just a bit, just the faintest stretch of his wide mouth, the slightest downturn. “I'm supposed to tell you if anything happens?”

“Already?” Sam blurted it out, dangerously interested, bowling right over Cas's obvious distaste for the whole situation.

“I kind of pushed it.”

G _ood, that was good. Good Cas._

Sam didn't say anything though, kept his eyes fixed on Cas, beautiful and tormented because of this but, horribly, Sam didn't care. He couldn't.

“How d'you mean?”

“He just mentioned the, uh, more intimate sort of appointment and I basically just herded him upstairs, immediately.”

Sam wanted to pounce, wanted all of it at once but Cas wasn't even looking at him. So he nudged a little closer, rustled at Cas's hair with his nose, tried at encouragement. Patience. “You don't have to tell me everything, just...basic stuff is more than enough.”

Cas heaved out a sigh. He rushed. “Alright, basically, he pretended he didn't know what he was doing and blew me. Then I kind of called him on it, and it changed. That was it, though.”

_That was it._

“Alright,” Sam sighed out. No art in the recollection, nothing like he'd expected. Well, what did he expect? He didn't even deserve this much. “Could you show me?”

Cas looked up at him again, eyes passing over his face, lingering generously around his lips. “No.”

“That's fair,” Sam huffed. _More than fair._

“But, only because I'm not downgrading my skills to show you.” Cas's mouth picked up on one corner, eyes crinkling so sweet that Sam mimicked it before he realized.

“Oh, really?”

“Uh, yeah. I'm a pretty good judge of this stuff. I'm better.”

“Oh my god,” Sam groaned, squinting his eyes closed. This shouldn't be so funny, he knew it shouldn't be but somehow, they were laughing about it. So bad, such a sick deception and it was fucking hilarious. “That's awful, this is _awful_.”

“I know,” Cas squished his head into Sam's neck, easily nuzzling at him, soft and warm and the most welcome distraction. “Ihis whole thing is awful. You know how lucky you are.”

“Yeah,” Sam kissed him, Sam had to kiss him just then, his lips brushing against Cas's hairline, against his ear. “So that's all? What were you doing?”

“Well...this is the part I'm debating telling you but I know that I'm going to anyway,” Cas muttered, muffled against Sam's neck so he felt the vibrations of it, deep and dark, the heat of Cas's breath warming his skin. “We cuddled. That was how it started.”

Cas didn't raise his head for a while, but when he did, it was to stare at Sam. Waiting.

Sam breathed though it, through the weirdest sear in his chest. Like. So stupid, because the blow job should be the thing that hurts, right? “Like...how?” he asked, dry-mouthed.

“At first? In bed. Upstairs. His head on my chest, sort of under my chin, you know? Like that. Then... head, and then...more cuddling. I had to make him stay though. But he liked it. Relaxed eventually.”

“After you did it? How? Where were you?” The questions fell out too urgently, his throat so tight it hurt to get them out.

“We spooned. He was, uh, the big.”

Of course he was.

“I used to think about that,” Sam didn't hesitate with this, didn't quietly sink down into it like he was desperate to do, to careen away on waves of the terrible strange pain. “Kind of constantly, for a while. Still do, sometimes. Like, after I beat off. And my brain just goes...everywhere. Places I don't let it go, usually.”

“I figured,” Cas sighed out, kitten-gentle, shuffling ever closer to Sam on the couch, so his knees jammed into Sam's thigh, his hands, long arms wrapped around Sam's closest. Staring that should have been unnerving but it was good to have Cas's eyes on him like that, to keep him close. To _have him_ , even through this.

“What was it like?” He didn't want to know, on this one level, had to fight not to tell Cas not to answer. He didn't remember; it had to have happened once or twice but he didn't remember what it felt like, could only pretend at it on those dark nights when he wanted nothing more than Dean wrapped around him, keeping him close.

“Warm,” Cas told him, softly, close enough that his blinking eyelashes caught against Sam's skin. “Strange, strained, at first, until he settled into it. It took a while.”

That sounded right. Sam wanted every detail, every specific little thing. Where did Deans hands go? Around his waist, clutching at his chest? On his hp? His head? Could Cas feel his breath on him, did it give him goosebumps? Did he kiss him, while they did it? Did he smell Dean after, on his clothes? And maybe he hadn't washed them yet, maybe Sam could just...

“Could you ask him about me?” Sam said before he could stop himself, half-sobbed it out and rolled his eyes shut immediately. What a terrible, awful thing to ask. “Just...just steer the conversation there one day?”

“I can't,” Cas answered him, no thinking about it. Because, probably, if he did, he'd do it.

“I know, I know that. I shouldn't even ask, it's really...it's really fucked up.”

“It's okay,” Cas muttered, eyelashes fluttering again, one hand creeping onto Sam's face slow like he didn't want to scare him with the contact. Like he ever could. “It's really okay, Sam.”

After a moment, it was. That swell in Sam's chest contracted, folded back into itself to wait until later, until tomorrow or the next day, maybe until he saw Dean again, or just imagined him in some reckless masturbatory fantasy.

Everything that was terrible abated quicker for Cas being there, pressed close against him, touching, _petting_.

Shoving it all away and away until, “Fuck, are you gonna bill me for this date or what?”

“No,” Cas crooned against him, “I'm the one that brought it up.”

“Still,” Sam grumbled, the last thread of tension sliding away into Cas's warmth. “I'm not jealous or anything. If you're worried about that.”

“I'm not.”

“Would you be? If I fucked someone else”

“No.”

“Really?” Sam half-haughed, because Cas sounded so damn sure of himself, and how could anyone be so sure of such a thing? “How d'you know?”

“It's been a long time since I've actually been in a relationship with just one person, Sam. Usually it's more...casual and numerous.”

“Wait. What?”

“What do you need clarification on?”

“Nothing, I guess. Just. Huh.”

“Not a problem, right?” Cas waited a few seconds before he sighed it out, and a few seconds more before he slid onto Sam's lap, thick thighs pressed against the outside of Sam's.

“No,” Sam craned his neck, smirked, easily fitted his hands around Cas's waist, “Just didn't know you were so...can I say freaky?”

“Can you not?”

“Open?”

“Open. Yeah.”

“I'm lucky.”

“Mhmm,” Cas hummed so low it was almost lost, even in the quiet, and he bent down and kissed him so good, so hard and perfect that even for just a little while, everything else fell away.

No universe existed where Sam felt deserving of this magic, of this sweetness in the face of the horrible demands he'd made. Even sunk down into it, he knew luck ran out, if it was even real to begin with.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

Drunk again, so Sam couldn't fairly say Dean was the only one with the family problem anymore. They were sharing it equally now and that seemed right. He was watching Dean pick up at the bar, watching him do his whole routine on this big athletic looking guy. The touching, the grinning, the way the light caught his eyes even so far away. Then shots but instead of at the bar, Dean was bringing them over. With the guy.

So his plan worked effortlessly and Sam shouldn't be surprised.

“Russ, this is Sam, Sam, Russ. And Sam, shots,” Dean still had his picking up grin so Sam couldn't resist. Not like he could have resisted Dean anyway. So they all did the shots and Dean leaned over the table, equal distance from Sam and this walking rugby poster. “Russ, Sam wants to watch us fuck.”

Oh my _god_.

Sam got red, everywhere, almost choked on nothing, on his tongue because fuck all, Dean was more overt now than he'd ever been. Was it because he was older? Was it because it was a guy? Or...everything else or something else but no, Cas said he'd say something. Cas promised. So this was just Dean being Dean, showing off for Sam, for everyone.

Fine, it worked for him.

And Russ looked him over, looked at Dean and nodded, affecting a cocky smirk that looked alarmingly natural. “Yeah, alright, we can fuck for your boyfriend.”

“Heh, boyfriend,” Dean grinned, so wide Sam swore it must have hurt, slapping him on the back. “Y'like that, Sammy? Boyfriend?”

No way he could say he did. No.

He glared, he gathered up the shot glasses, he stalked off to the bar and cooled his heels while Dean and Russ got more acquainted. He wasn't running away. He just needed a little break somewhere without Dean's eyes and his easy jokes that meant nothing to him and everything to Sam.

He came back over with more shots, two rounds, and barely remembered anything for a while, which was better. Vague recollection of Dean making him and Russ flex in some absurd competition. The other guy's big hand on his bicep, so close to kissing until Dean cleared his throat and reminded Sam of the _rules_. He only got to _watch_ and Sam shuddered to think what Russ thought. Maybe he didn't think anything, maybe that was why Dean picked up.

They crammed together in the back of a cab. Dean in the middle, turned so he could make out like a fucking kid, but that turn put him half in Sam's lap, a lovely plush swell of ass jammed against his thigh, rocking just slightly towards Russ. Sam wanted to see but he could fucking imagine it from the obscene noises, squishy slick wet makeout sounds that ensured he'd get embarrassingly hard.

It didn't even register that they were at his apartment until he climbed out of the car, stumbled up the curb and saw his building. Why the fuck did Dean want to come here? He had a whole house, a whole huge house to himself with like, three bedrooms, two baths, enough room for three or more big dudes and he'd directed them here, to Sam's small bare boring serial killer sparse apartment. Was it part of whatever game Dean was playing? Did it even count if he didn't let anyone else in on it?

In the elevator, Dean tugged Sam over by the hand, against his side and the plastic wood panelling spun around and around while he tried to focus on his green eyes. “Sammy, want you to call 'im.”

“What?” Sam said immediately, without bothering to think about what he meant. They were just so close, it was distracting, hot breath everywhere from Russ, from Dean, all atrociously whiskey-breathed but worth it.

“Cas,” Dean muttered, and Sam swore his eyes flickered down to his mouth for a second. “Get him to talk you off again? While you watch us?”

Russ laughed before Sam could say anything, one hand on each of their shoulders, his head thunking back against the elevator. “You guys are fucked _up_.”

They were.

Sam didn't say anything but he'd already decided on yes, opening his door for them while he got his phone out, letting them tumble in first attached at the fucking lips already.

This time, Sam was in the chair with the two guys on the couch and his thumb was hovering over the tiny little phone that would mean he got to talk to Cas. But...he'd have to tell him what was happening, tell him about the flurry of hands and clothes getting tugged away, tell him about Dean climbing in his guy's lap and grinding and _fuck this_.

_Fuck it absolutely._

Sam called Cas, grabbed his dick through his pants. Didn't know what time it was but Cas answered hoarse, probably asleep.

“Sam?”

“I'm okay,” Sam assured him right away, “I just, uh...wondered if...”

“Stop being a bitch and tell him,” Dean said, half turning to look at Sam. His lips were all puffy red and his face was getting pink, shirt off and Russ was biting at his smooth chest and rubbing his big hands all over.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut just so he could talk. “I'm with Dean,” he sighed out, “He's...he picked up.”

“Sam, that's..”

“I know, it's a bad idea,” he said, and opened his eyes and Dean was still looking at him until Russ grabbed his chin in his big hand and turned him back, attacking his mouth tongue first. “But I thought..maybe you could talk me off again? You're just so good at it, Cas.”

Not a lie, Sam wasn't lying about much and the one thing he was bluffing on, Cas caught right away.

“Did Dean tell you to do this?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, swallowed hard, on edge and sure Cas was going to hang up and he really should since they were both just being pawns in some fucked up game of Dean's, without knowing the rules, the name, anything else.

But...

“What's he doing?” Cas asked, after a moment of unnerving quiet, asked like he was actually interested.

“He's, uh, he's on this guy's lap. Big guy.”

“Tell 'im he looks like you, Sammy,” Dean said, turned around again just to grin while Russ pawed his pants apart. Sam couldn't see, view obscured but for Dean's back, and that was gorgeous but he wanted more.

“Wait, it's a guy?” Cas asked.

“Yeah. Dean says to say he looks like me.”

Pause. Shuddered breath over the phone and Dean making the twin noise, hips thrusting up against what Sam assumed was Russ's hand.

“Sam, you should go.”

“It's my apartment.”

Cas sighed.

“And I'm drunk. So. Just, c'mon,” Sam sighed, deflated in his chair and started stroking at himself in earnest, tongue poking at his lips, watching hard at the noisy men on his couch and still wishing he could see more of them. Well. More of Dean specifically. “C'mon, Cas, get your dick out too. I'll tell you what they're doing.”

Yeah, he was definitely in hang up territory now. Hang up and delete the contact and get a fucking restraining order or something.

“What are they doing now?” Cas asked and _thank god._

“Kinda hard to see,” Sam admitted, “But I think Dean's...Dean's getting jerked off.”

Horrible satisfied laugh from Dean and Sam watched him glide down until he wedged between Russ's long legs, and he noticed Russ's dick for the first time, comparatively small with the rest of his huge body. He wondered if Dean was disappointed but maybe Dean didn't care, because he was sucking it down immediately, until his cheeks were hollow and Russ was arching sharply off the couch.

“Dean's sucking his dick,” Sam managed, his hand speeding up over his dick and he was sure he could get off in four seconds watching this. So different from watching Dean go down on a girl. That went slow, languid, lots of Dean's hot as fuck low growl-laugh, lots of hands and moaning. “He's really good at it.”

Sam wished that was quieter but fuck, Dean was like...enthusiastic as hell and going breakneck fast on this guy's dick and moaning with his mouth stuffed full.

“Yeah,” Cas sighed, just barely breathy, just enough that Sam knew he was jerking off now and that made him feel a bit better.

“Yeah, and he fucking loves to show off,” Sam grumbled, had known that was true since he was eight years old but hadn't known how far it would extend. Tiny dark corner of his mind wondering if that was because of all the _performing_ they'd done for each other for so long, like their whole childhoods and teenage years spend crammed together beating off for each other. He could have been anyone. He could still be anyone. It was just a bonus that they had this fucked up thing, and that the fucked up thing now extended to Cas.

“Fucking right,” Dean said, tapping at his lips with the dick while he was looking at Sam, wriggling out of his jeans at the same time. “Y'wanna take a picture for him, Sammy?”

Sam swallowed nervously and plainly looked down at his brother's ass, never seen from a position like this with his pants fully down and his thighs spread. If it weren't so dark, Sam could see everything. If he weren't so far away, he could probably touch.

“Cas...Cas, he wants me to take a picture.”

“Fuck, this is fucked up,” Cas shuddered out into the phone, his warbly breath catching weird on the mic. And it was and he was the second outside party to say that so it definitely was, but then he added, “Yeah, show me.”

And Sam slid onto the carpet on his knees and _that_ was better, the view when he shuffled closer, the hard red dick disappearing into Dean's tightly clamped mouth, the big hands on his head, the eager noises and hollow cheeks. Dark picture but he could still see enough to send it on to Cas.

“Get it?”

“Yeah.”

“It'd be better if you were here, Cas,” Sam said, aware, not caring that the other two could hear him. Cas laughed though, quiet little thing. “I know, that'd be even more fucked up.”

Sam didn't move back to his chair; he got up on the couch and that was decidedly too close to be yanking his dick, with Dean like half a foot away with Russ in his mouth. Cas was right, he _should_ leave.

This was all such a trap. He couldn't say what he wanted to Cas, couldn't talk about how beautiful Dean was with a dick in his mouth, more beautiful than Sam had imagined and he'd spent like, his whole life thinking about it. Because those lips were made for this, entirely crafted to have a dick rubbed on them and shoved in but he couldn't _say that._

And if he asked Cas to come and get him now, at fucking what, 2 in the morning? Would he?

_Of course he would, he'd do anything_.

But.

But Dean on his fucking knees with one hand on Russ's leg, so close to brushing against Sam's, and his other hand disappeared somewhere in the dark, probably on his own dick.

Fuck it, Sam took another picture and the flash went off and it was crooked and like, bad porno lighting but he could see everything easier, illuminated strange and too much but he sent it to Cas anyway and hefted the phone back against his ear, pretended not to notice Dean's eyes on him.

“If you were here - “

“Yeah, if I were there, Sam, where would I be?” Cas rushed it out fast like he'd been holding it.

“On my lap would be nice,” Sam considered, biting at his lip, resuming stroking himself while he watched. “Facing away, so you could watch Dean. If you want.”

“Oh, he wants to,” Dean chimed in, “You know he fuckin' wants to.”

Well yeah, who didn't?

“Do you want to?” he had to ask. Getting so far out of hand but he had to ask.

“Yeah,” Cas sighed out, “Yeah, you'd have to be there.”

That made something constrict all nice and tight in Sam's chest. Wires so crossed but what if they split Cas? What if...just more shit he couldn't spew out, even though he really, really wanted to.

“So, what next?” Dean blinked up, at Sam, not Russ, and what was with that? Sam glanced at the man beside him, pretty much wrecked by Dean's mouth so he had no input to give on the subject. Which was just as well.

Sam swallowed, thought as much as he could in this state. Dean had never asked before and he'd seen Dean fuck girls countless times, further away than now, usually tucked in some dark corner out of the way so he felt a little on edge being so close but...they'd move, right? If Dean decided to fuck this guy? They'd have to.

What was better? Dean getting railed? What noises did he make? Did he even _like_ that? Bending over for some beefy jock? It must be under consideration, must be a possibility if he hadn't ruled it out, since he'd _asked_ Sam what he wanted to see.

“You should fuck him, Dean,” Sam said at length. Because he loved watching it, because he fucking dreamed about it.

“Oh-my-god,” Russ stuttered out, hips hitching up against Dean's face, staring wide eyed down at him. “It's...I mean, have you seen his dick, man? It's fucking huge. I dunno if - “

“Aw, c'mon,” Dean crooned, pressing the guy's dick up against his cut stomach so he could nuzzle at his balls, open his mouth wide to suck at them until Russ swore again, hissing, nodding.

“Yeah, okay, do it.”

And Dean grinned up and fucking winked at Sam. “So, get me your lube, Sammy.”

_His_ lube, like somehow that made it even worse but Sam was actually glad to get up, kicking his pants off as he went to the bedroom, phone still pressed up against his ear. “Dean's gonna fuck him,” he told Cas, “I'm gettin' lube.”

But he was leaning back against a wall and letting his eyes shut and heaving a sigh instead of reaching for the bedside table.

“Are you okay with this?” Cas asked, pantingly though.

“Yeah,” Sam forced out, rough, “I mean...I don't know. No, but...fuck, Cas, it's kinda all I got.”

“It isn't, though.”

“Yeah, well,” Sam muttered, ignoring the room tilting, finally going for the half-full bottle of lube, grabbing a few towels from the closet too because fucked if Dean was ruining his couch. “It's...it's the last time, okay?”

Cas didn't say anything. Sam knew he was probably lying. Just saying no to Dean seemed like the hardest thing in the world to do, ever, but when his dick entered into the picture, there wasn't even a chance. Sick truths.

“I do wish you were here though.”

“I know. Tomorrow though, right? Are you going now?”

“What? No, I wanna...wanna get you off, Cas.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, I'm...going back in.”

“Sounds like a war zone.”

Kind of was. Kind of was this weird decades long stand off. Sam heard a smack resound, not at all surprised when he came out of the hallway that Dean had Russ all spread out on all fours on the couch, his mouth glued to his ass. Sam made some unbecoming noise and the other guy looked up and moaned straight at him.

“You two are...so...fucked up but...fuck, he's good. You're fuckin' lucky.”

“Yeah,” Sam grumbled, depositing the lube onto his coffee table, standing awkwardly, dick still out of his boxers and then in his hand again. Dean's eyes twinkled, staring at him.

“C'mon, sit in front of our new pal. I'm gonna let him suck your dick while I fuck him. Sound good?”

Fuck.

_Fuck_.

Sam shuddered and nodded, shuffling into the place they'd left for him. “You hear all that, Cas?”

“Most. I think it's officially a threesome now, yes?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, leaning back against the arm of the couch, stretching his long legs down it and carefully avoiding Dean in the process. This Russ guy latched on to his dick like he was just happy to have something in his mouth and he wasn't bad, couldn't get down all the way but he looked eager and he moaned around it, made the hottest vibrations. “Yeah, Cas, he's sucking my dick – the – the other guy, not Dean.”

_Don't look at Dean, don't do it._

He did it. Dean looked like he was grinning while he was eating this guy's ass. Fuck him for that, that was wrong.

“Is he good?”

“Not as good as you.”

Dean laughed, Russ didn't, just looked up like he was going to protest but Dean landed another smack on his bubbly ass and made him gasp instead of whatever he was going to say.

“Is Cas good at sucking dick, Sam? I kinda wanna hear about it,” Dean pulled up, lips even more puffed out and shiny wet and Sam wondered what this guy tasted like, wanted to kiss Dean and chase that taste down, let it mix with whatever normal tastes Dean held and wouldn't that be a fucked up first kiss? Perfect for them, really.

“Not just good,” Sam answered, honestly, absently pushing one hand into Russ's soft dark hair, not as long as his own but still enough to satisfyingly clutch at while he got his dick sucked. “Cas is fucking amazing, Cas is like...a fucking pro.”

The low rumbly laugh of Cas in the phone made Sam so intensely happy, made him feel like Cas was there for a second. “Thank you, Sam. I would honestly love to be doing that right now.”

“Yeah, I know you would. Kinda a slut for it, huh? Remember that first time?”

“I thought you were going to chip a tooth.”

“Felt so fucking good though.”

“Share with the class,” Dean urged, popping the cap on the lube and it was hard for Sam to see past the big body hunched over his dick but from the little gasp around him he figured Dean was going for it. Russ sort of stretched back against Dean, big body over-eager for it, despite the earlier misgivings about Dean's _size_.

Sam hadn't seen his brother's dick for a long time, and he tried not to look, really, but from the way Dean sat half off the couch...impossible not to.

Big. Still so big and back then it hadn't matched his lithe little body, all scrawny and okay, a little twinky in all the prettiest ways but now? Now the thickness matched all of Dean's hard-won muscle, all that grit and wideness and god, poor Russ was right to be worried.

Dean didn't call him out on the staring, but he did smirk, too knowing. Sam hated it.

Sam tried to relax back, ear filled with Cas's beautiful breathy noises, so gravelly and they sounded better in person, had a real growl to them that he could feel against his skin, longed to feel it now.

“Well, he's got that big mouth on him,” Sam started, teeth clenched a little, remembering. So much to remember. “So that helps.”

“I've noticed.”

“Dean says he's noticed your mouth, Cas.”

“I've seen.”

“And he's good when he's in charge, y'know? Thorough and eager for it but...I think the best is when he just goes all needy and placid and then I get to fuck his throat.”

“Ah, god,” Cas moaned, perfect little hitch in his breath and Sam swelled a bit, proud, getting three guys off at once, how was that for slutty? Did that win the prize?

“He loves it,” Sam kept going, eyes dark on Dean who was staring right back, even while his hand pumped obviously into Russ. Sam couldn't see how many fingers but Russ was losing the plot on his dick and that meant it was good. Of course it was good, Dean always knew what he was doing. Always, always with everything. Sam knew he'd be good at this too. “Barely even gags, y'know? Not like _you_ , Russ.”

“Hey, he's tryin',” Dean defended their pick-up, tongue chasing at his lips, leaning forward a bit to watch Russ on Sam's dick. “Kinda a big thing to deal with.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, tipping his hips up into the guy's mouth, holding his head still so he could fuck his face, like he was talking about. Definitely thinking about Cas. “Yeah?” Sam asked, fully at Dean. Totally. “You like it?”

_Oh, so wrong_ and he covered fast.

“Cas likes it. Cas kinda wishes he were here right now, right?”

“Yes, god, wish I was sucking your dick, Sam, letting you plow my face. Love it when you fuck me like that, love it.”

The babbling, that was good, meant he was close.

And Dean was done with the prep; Sam watched him slick up his dick, shiny in the near-dark, so big in his hand and that had to be genetic, two fucking monster dicks. Destined to never touch. What a joke. The only thing he'd ever wanted, feet away. A body away. Sinking into someone else, slow and controlled.

Russ tried to get up, ostensibly to make some noise or other but Sam held him down for a good little while until his fingers clutched at his thighs and his eyes watered and he pulled him back up in a cascade of drool and panting.

“Dean's fucking him, Cas,” Sam brought him up to speed, “D'you want that? Wanna get speared between us?”

“Oh my god,” was the only response, with a flurry of heavy breathing and then this torn up moan of his name, just his name, that was important, just _Sam, Sam, fuck_ and Sam shoved Russ back down on his dick, watching Dean for a pace. Slow, for now, which suited him fine because any faster and it was all gonna be over.

Like it was for Cas? _Hm. Those noises_.

“You blow, Cas?” he asked, trying to keep the heavy breathing out of the words but impossible with the way he was pumping slow up into this guy's mouth, worse than fast because he was all tight and a bit of teeth but just the smallest amount and, well, he wasn't used to dicks so big, obviously.

“Made a mess, fuck,” Cas muttered on the other end and Sam grunted, shoved himself at Russ's face harder; Dean matched it, speeding up, blunt fingertips digging into Russ's cushy hips

“I'd clean it up if I were there, Cas,” Sam promised, letting his eyes shut, imagining it, salty-hot off Cas's stomach, off his fingers. “Like when you come down my throat but I like cleanin' it up too. Love how you taste. God, Cas.”

Dean fucking moaned, and went faster and if Sam kept up with that, the poor kid would be gagging so he settled on hard, thrusting as far as Russ could take it, just until he made that gagging noise that he never had to worry about with Cas.

Sam managed a grunting, “Coming, Cas” before he filled Russ's mouth up, and the poor guy gagged on it, mouth pulling back and half dripping the mess of saliva and jizz and Sam was still shooting just a bit, rogue little streaks onto his lips and that looked good on _anyone_ but he was pointedly thinking of messing up Cas's face, of Cas's tongue licking it up and moaning happily.

Dean hauled Russ up, arm around his waist and the other around his neck just to help him up before it gripped at his chin, and tilted his head back.

Cas was saying something, asking if it was good or if he came in the guy's mouth or something filthy like that but Sam's eyes narrowed down on Dean staring at _his come_ splattering this guy's mouth and dripping down. Sam watched Dean grip the guy's dick and absolutely strip it hard and fast, a ridiculous breakneck pace and then...

_And then._

Dean kissed him, sucked the mess out of his mouth and licked it off his lips and moaned the whole time, with his eyes closed and his tongue everywhere.

It wasn't slow motion. It was like some black tunnel, like Sam was on some whopper of a disassociative because everything was Dean's mouth and his noises and that was his come they were swapping, Dean had it in _his fucking mouth,_ poking his tongue around and moaning and swallowing it.

Sam almost dropped the phone.

Russ came with a surprised shout, twitching, landing on his stomach and on Sam, and Dean opened his eyes and locked them on his brother's and he looked fucked _up_ , shocked or devastated or something other than he'd been a second ago, when his eyes were closed and...

...and it was someone else's load he was swallowing. So into it, he forgot it was Sam. That had to be it, Sam saw it in his eyes, in the way he gripped Russ's face even harder and bent him back over and really, really started fucking him hard.

Noisy slapping and Russ was half-on Sam and Sam still had the phone up to his ear and Cas asking after him, something, _are you there, what happened, did you come._

Eventually, he croaked out, “Yeah. It was good,” distanced, mechanical. “Dean's fucking the guy now. Like. Hard.”

Dean wasn't looking at him anymore, Dean had his head down, buried in Russ's back muscles, grunting, loud slapping fucks into the guy that were making him wheeze and punch out heavy breaths against Sam's legs, where he'd draped with no choice.

“It's really hot,” Sam said and it was, in this desperate angry way that he knew really well from Dean, that he sort of expected was there all along when he fucked guys, just because it was different. Not good or bad different but just different.

“I'm gonna - “

“Sam, are you - “

“Yeah, I'm always okay. Tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay...okay, good night.”

“Night.” He hung up, he was stuck in place, he didn't want to be anywhere else but also...god, there were a lot of other places that would be better than this.

Cas's bed, Cas's arms, Cas's surprisingly beefy body snuggled up against his, with his smells like tea and paprika.

But he was here, this was his lot, this was what he deserved, being crushed on the couch while Dean ruined this guy's ass, this guy who didn't deserve it but who was clearly loving it anyway.

Dean went quiet when he came but Sam saw it in the stuttering of his hips, in the flexing of his gorgeous back and the veins in his arms, just one or two near his hands fucking popping mad. Everything tense and clenched on both of them, in the room in general. Sam clutched is phone hard in his hand, wiped his brow with the other and avoided looking anymore. He wouldn't. He _shouldn't_.

Zoned out looking at the coffee table. Irregular breathing huffing against him but no one was really moving. Maybe that was good but then someone jolted him, smacked his leg and grumbled, “Alright, alright,” and it was Dean and they were moving around, untangling and it was embarrassing to be naked now, suddenly, to have this stranger's load on him, dotting his thighs.

Quick clean up, wiped it on a t-shirt. Sam bundled his clothes in front of his dick with one hand, rubbed down his jaw with the other. Didn't look but they were still on the couch, kind of sitting. Dean picked at his clothes from the floor.

“There's a guest room,” Sam muttered, nodded towards it. “I'm going to bed.”

Small apartment and Sam got halfway down the hall before Dean called, “I'm thinking of a round two anyway, just me and Russ, so. Night, little brother.”

Bedroom door already open and Sam nearly slammed it at the other guy's, “Wait, he's your _brother?_ ”

Shut it quietly instead but pressed back against it, listened. Dean was too low but the other guy, plain and high and angry loud, moving, said “That's _sick_ , I knew you guys had some fucked up thing happening but that's really disgusting. There's something _wrong_ with you, I mean, I got a brother, and I'd _never_ do something like that with him, not even in the same room, man. You're - “

Sick. _Yeah_.

They didn't even touch and it was sick. That's the prevailing opinion.

The door slammed after another minute. Sam sat on his bed, dark room empty, spinning. Worse when Dean's footsteps came down the hall. He held his breath and watched them and please, _please_ do it, knock or open the door, come in, give me a chance, or some kind of choice or something.

Dean sighed, paced back to the couch.

Sam sat and watched him do it again and again.

Maybe this time. Maybe the next time.

He fell asleep watching the door, arm flung towards it just in case, just in case.

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

Sam showed early for the night-time appointment. Cas kept them in the books. Sam cut him a cheque. That had to stop. Well, it would. Door perpetually unlocked; Sam smiled just turning the knob, glowing with relief, rushing too fast in the old narrow spaces to Cas in the kitchen and Sam wrapped him all up without a second thought, squished his chin down on his head and, probably a little painful but no complaints. Cas sighed into it.

Then upstairs. No talking, no _what do you want tonight_ , but Sam had Cas's hand the whole way, and he seemed to know.

It wasn't going to happen like it did before.

Sam sat Cas on the bed and curled into his lap, nuzzled his stomach, closed his eyes at the hands in his hair. Both, and then one down his neck, resting on his shoulder.

Sam draped long arms around Cas's waist and pulled himself in as much as he could, wanted to disappear into Cas and just forget so much. Everything.

“We can just talk,” Cas told him and good, because that's all that's going to happen anyway. No strength left for more, everything sapped from his bones.

“I think I have to leave. Leave town, I mean.”

“Why do you think that?”

“You know why.”

“I know one side of why you might think that, but you better tell me the whole thing.”

Of course, he couldn't get off so easy. So to speak.

“This keeps escalating. With Dean.” His throat already stretched tight. “It escalates and I get all this false hope and I know it's wrong and I shouldn't think like that but there's always this 'what if' thing. Like, nothing can kill it, nothing! You were on the phone, you couldn't see but...” His eyes opened, looking up at Cas looking down at him. A ghost of a smile passed Cas's lips, and the tiniest bit of reassurance was everything he needed. “So...I shot in the guy's mouth, you know about that part. But then he, like, he snowballed it to Dean, y'know? And I guess Dean didn't remember it was me or...whatever. I mean, he _gladly_ took it.”

“And then?”

Sam shut his eyes again and he saw it, that shadow of revulsion that wrinkled up his brother's face when they locked eyes, how he probably hated him in that split second. Sam knew what his own face looked like there, astonished, amazed, relieved, in love. Sam knew sure he radiated it somehow. He knew, he _knew_.

“He opened his eyes and he saw me and he was...I don't know. Disgusted, I guess. That's what it looked like anyway. It was dark.”

“Were we...was I still on the phone?”

“Yeah. Then he wouldn't look at me and pounded the life outta that poor guy. I basically ran to the fucking bedroom. I was out. I just...wanted you? That was all I could think about, right after I hung up. How much I didn't want to be in this fucking horrible situation anymore, how I just wanted to be in your comfy bed.”

Sam dared one eye open on Cas, another reassuring smile, his hand dragging through Sam's hair and trancing him out so nice. This was what he wanted. Not dark-seedy-bad-for-him banging, tense times with a brother he couldn't touch. Was it too much to say all of that? Everything was too much.

“Anyway, Dean called me _brother_ or something and the guy freaked out, left, I didn't hear most of it. But it sounded pretty shitty. Dean left before I got up but...he stayed. And like, my door was shut? And I could see him pacing in front of it. I could have opened it and talked or something but I just watched it, I fell asleep watching it. Why would he do that, what did he want?”

He sighed.

“See, this is what I mean though. It's just gonna be this, over and over and over. So I'm going to move.”

“You've decided?”

“Maybe. What do you think?”

It mattered, it mattered _so_ goddamned much what Cas said. There were so many other things lined up depending on what he said. Too many. Eggs all in one big messy basket. He watched Cas blink slow, face settling into his thinking face. Lovely from any angle, from all angles, lovely how nimble his mind worked.

“I think it might be a good thing to do in this situation. So you could move on with your own life but still maintain contact in some way.”

“Would you maybe want to come with me?”

Sam saw the _no_ there in Cas's face immediately and he shut his eyes quick, rolled close until his head pressed against Cas's stomach, pressed so close into those smells, into the gentle breath. But his fingers through Sam's hair didn't still for a second. That had to be good.

“Where are you thinking?”

“West. We talked about it, remember? Missed it. I just thought...I don't know.” Lead in his chest and pinprick tears now but his eyes were shut so Cas didn't see. “I just really think I love you.”

Cas didn't say anything.

The weight in Sam's chest just got heavier, heavier but he sat up anyway, arms still around Cas's waist, head tucking into his shoulder despite his stiffness. It was fine, it was fine, Cas was a reasonable person and even if he didn't feel _that_ , it wouldn't be bad, it wouldn't be a terrible let down or a bone breaker of a fall.

But still.

“Sorry,” Sam muttered. “I'm sorry this is so weird.”

Sam saw Cas thinking, felt it, practically sensed the wheels turning. Coming up with some sweet way to let him go, some sweet way to say they couldn't ever see each other again. That the whole thing start to finish was a mistake. Then there'd be something about how much they both learned, blah blah bah. How they grew. All that stuff people said but at least Cas would mean it.

“You haven't been in an adult relationship before, not really,” Cas started slow, “Before now, I mean. And I'm worried you might be confusing your feelings for your brother with your feelings for me. You can understand that worry, I think.”

“Yeah, but, I'm not. It hurts, with him. But with you, it's not the same. It doesn't feel the same. No matter how many times I explain it, if you don't feel it, you don't. It's not any more complicated than that.”

It was, of course, probably the most overly complicated thing in the entire world.

Sam clung on tight because it might be the last time he got to, ever. _What then?_ Back to the grind of pick ups and emptiness. Off chance he'd hit it off with someone else and even then, there'd be so many secrets. Questions. Cas knew everything, Cas already knew all of him but it couldn't cling on to that, if Cas didn't want him to

West would be nice. Skipping winter, Christmas on his own, New Years with strangers. Years and years slipping away with strangers. Dean once a year, once a year would be okay. He could handle it once a year, handle whatever family Dean stumbled into. And if he couldn't, well, there were other ways to disappear from that.

“I'm so grateful that I met you, Sam,” Cas said at last, punctuated it with his lips brushing Sam's forehead, a subtle shift closer but Sam tensed for the drop anyway. “You are so sweet, so loving. Entirely selfless and extraordinary. And you deserve so much more than what you have.”

Nothing dropped. Sam raised his head, frowned at Cas, waiting, waiting.

Cas's hands on his face, clutching somewhere between reverent and possessive, gentle desperate. “I would be an idiot not to love you, Sam.”

Oh, his eyes were so sweet blue, clear steely skies and that wide mouth curving up and when Sam laughed it sounded like a sob and he looked away and it wasn't within his realm of belief to allow this.

But god, _Cas_. He just kept going.

“You are beautiful, really. In thousands of different ways and it's terrible that no one's ever told you that. But I want to keep saying it, Sam, every day. Possibly forever.”

“If there's a but coming up, you better let it go right fucking now because - “

“There isn't. I love you, Sam.”

He melted, he felt hot and cold at the same time, threw himself at Cas until he crashed back into the headboard, until Sam engulfed him almost totally. “Say it again.” He wanted to hear it again, forever and ever, maybe all he'd been waiting for, maybe what he'd been born for, those syllables dripping from that low rough voice a complete sentence, a complete universe wrapped up in those words.

Cas indulged him, held him, kissed him and said it over and over until he was laughing, until Sam was too, until they didn't need to say anything else ever again.

“So you'll come with me?”

“To your vague 'west?'”

“Yeah,” Sam laughed again, grinned until his face hurt from it. How long since he'd smiled so big? Probably years. Probably. “I want to go as soon as possible, so I'll start looking. Like, tonight, for a house or...something, somewhere. I'll find it if I look, somewhere perfect. You'll know it when you see it.”

He couldn't wait. He bounded off the bed, bounced down to Cas's office with footsteps following behind him, grabbed Cas's tablet and they spend all night on it, in the kitchen with late dinner, in the living room on the couch, cuddled, looking, falling asleep, waking up together.

Together being the important part.

 

* * *

 

Sam thought Cas too sweet, at times; vaguely innocent with those huge blue eyes, like the way he stared at him and said, “You have to tell him you're going, you have to talk to Dean,” and he was right, goddammit, but that it could be said so plain like that, so sweet and gentle? Pretty naive.

But, eventually, Sam listened. Even sent a warning text to Dean, a 'we need to talk tonight' to preface their usual meet up. No response. Dean met him though, beer and cocky smile, not at all dulled by their previous bullshit or by the fact that they hadn't spoken since. Only a few days, but. Still.

Small talk and then, to bust up the silence, Dean said, “So, we need to _talk_ , huh?”

Sam hated his tone but didn't let it show. Didn't chug it away with beer either. He swallowed dry instead, mouth ashes, throat tight and hard, all lumps. _Just get it out._

“I'm moving away, Dean.”

Dean looked nothing but skeptical. Just another smirk, tiny eye roll. “Yeah, alright, where to?”

“West, somewhere. Oregon or Washington, I'm not sure yet.” He should have lied, should have given Dean the first town to pop into his mind and written down a fakey little address too.

“Uh huh. And what about your job?”

“My job? I can set up anywhere.”

“And Cas?”

“There's other therapists.” Okay, that half-truth came out much too smooth and Sam sighed out of his nose, finally grabbed for the beer. “He's coming with me.”

Dean laughed, let it burst out of him like some long held joke finally revealed, punchline and all. Pointed, laughed some more.

Sam couldn't look at him. The tabletop had little knife scratches it in like someone had been working on initials once, once. Never finished and now the wood wore smooth over it, a million glasses and fingers rubbing against it.

Then Dean finished with a fake apology; his apologies were always fake, every time. “Y'know, he thinks _we_ got some fucked up thing going on but moving somewhere with a _patient_? That's fucked up as hell.”

“Okay, _client_ and that's not why he's doing it. We're sort of seeing each other.”

“What?” Dean barked it and there'd been plenty of time to tell him before, acres of hours and days that he didn't see fit to fill with this knowledge. Kind of important knowledge, given their situation. Situations. But Dean didn't laugh at that, at least, not like he did before. He finished up his beer, pouring from the half-full pitcher without even looking at Sam. “You're dating Cas.”

“I guess.” Sam answered, then shook his head hard because that wasn't fair, that was achingly noncommittal and _not fair._ “No, yeah, we are. Dating.”

“Uh huh. And that started when? Before he became your fuck doctor or what?”

“It's not like that.”

“He _probably_ just feels sorry for you, y'know. Maybe he's one of those creepy shrinks who goes around like, seducing their patients and shit.”

“Dean,” Sam started but trailed it off, swallowed hard, fingers scrabbling over the cuts in the wood, smoothing over them like so many people before. How many people did this to escape? Calm themselves down? He set his glass over it so he couldn't anymore. Had to face Dean and steer the conversation elsewhere, but... “Dean, it's _real_. It's a real thing. I told him how I felt. Last night. And he - “

“Whoa, wait, how you _felt_?”

“Yeah. Like. I love him.”

No looking at Dean after that but Sam made out the little knife-scrawls even under his glass through the golden beer.

“Not gonna end well,” Dean mumbled. Sam looked up just enough to see his fingers swirling over the edge of his glass, restlessly, frowning, eyes on the table too. “I mean, there's a precedent for this sorta thing. Not a good one. What'd he say, anyway?”

“He does too.”

“Yeah, for _now_. Until an even sadder puppy comes along and he wants that one instead.”

Well, that was impossible; Sam couldn't imagine anyone sadder than him, ever in the history of the entire world.

“You're wrong, Dean,” he managed, chased it down until he emptied the glass, put his hand over the top when Dean offered up more. “It doesn't matter anyway, okay? For now...for now, it's good.”

“So why're you moving?”

“Change of scenery? I've been here too long, I think. The way we were raised - “

“Don't. You've been here five years, and just _now_ you're getting the itch? You used to fuckin' daydream about staying in one place for like, a month. Seriously, you'd cut these little pictures outta magazines and catalogues and make up like, fake rooms for yourself.”

“I know, I _know_ , I just don't want to be here anymore, why does it have to be a thing? Just accept it.”

Dean should get a punch in the face instead of an explanation but they'd never really come to serious blows. Brotherly shoving, sure. Intense roughhousing that sometimes had an edge of the real to it but Sam had never really felt his fist pulsing like that, the deepest goddamned anger in the universe.

“Nah, you know I can't do that. Gotta wring it out of you. Cas say I'm bad for you?”

“No. It isn't about you. I can actually make some decisions in my life that don't revolve around you, y'know.”

Dean just gave him _the look_ , like he wanted to worm everything out of Sam no matter what and despite earlier protests, the jerk filled Sam's glass again so it just sat there, getting frosty cold, bubbling in his face and looking delicious, like some kind of answer.

“So...something bad happen at work? And you gotta get outta town fast?”

“Dean, stop it.”

“Probably _not_ because all you really do is _domestic_ spying and I know you can handle those sons of bitches. It's kinda like if Dad got real lazy and into made-for-TV movies and sold all his guns. So honestly, I can't imagine much danger _there_. Unless you pissed off some mob wife or something, but seriously, this goddamned deep midwest? There's fucking nothing.” This was Dean at the height of dickery and Sam had seen it before, the monologue, the guessing. It was ridiculous.

“It's not work, work is fine. It's boring here, I want something different. That's _all_ , please just accept that? I didn't have to even tell you, you know? I could've just up and moved off.”

“Well, Cas woulda told me. He'd have to tell me he was moving because and you think I wouldn't put that together?”

“You didn't know we were dating.”

“Nah, I just thought he was pity-fucking you for money. Same thing though.”

“Look, it doesn't matter. I'm going.”

“You don't even know where.”

“I don't have to, anywhere's better. We used to do that all the time, Dean, just find some vague area on a map and _go_ , between jobs, in the summer. When you had that shit Corvette and we threw darts on the map?”

“Yeah, but you're grown up. Even I don't do that shit.”

_No. Just plenty of other shit, mountains of childish shit._

“I'm drivng out next week,” Sam lied, easy, but maybe he would speed things up. He should. _Yeah_. Hell, he'd just pack up the van with his meagre possessions and head out undaunted, no plans, put an offer in on the first house he fell in love with.

Send for Cas and pray he came.

_He will, he loves you, he said so_.

“Well...that's gonna suck.” Dean finally sighed, not like he was accepting it but his face went shadowy sad for a half second before he stuffed it up with beer.

“I only see you once a week,” Sam frowned too, hand automatically wrapping around his glass, crisp cold and wet against his palm. “And lately, it hasn't been great.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean grumbled, “It was nice having family close anyway.”

Flashes of finally leaving for college lit up Sam's mind, the deceptions to get him to stay, the actual goddamned tears. The 'I'll miss you' and the nothingness Dean gave him back. The 'I love you' and the clutching at Dean's coat at the bus station and the less than nothing he got from that. Like when you're in overdraft and the bank just takes more money from you as a punishment, steals away everything you don't even have.

But he was doing it right this time. Lying so it was easier on both of them because if Dean knew, really knew, it'd be worse.

“I'll be set up by Christmas. You can visit.”

Noncommittal grunt. Dean stared at his beer. Sam stared at his. Swell of laughter from the bar and Dean didn't even check it out so this might be the most serious conversation in years. In a decade at least.

“I thought you liked it here, is all,” Dean started eventually, half shrugging, tone weirdly apologetic. “I thought we were havin' fun.”

_Of course he did._ That's all. Fun. Teasing everyone, fucking shit up left and right and plowing his way through town, through everyone's feelings, even through Sam's fucking therapist.

Cas sort of intimated, last night, that while he definitely needed to tell Dean he was moving away, Sam should probably gloss over the major issue. That no one was ready for that and it wouldn't do anyone any good. Especially Sam.

But his mouth was scraped dry and there was just the beer, the whole glass in a few big mouthfuls, Dean gaping, settling into a smirk that wouldn't last.

“Dean.”

“Mhmm?”

He didn't have to. Better if he didn't. Better by so much.

_But_.

“I'm leaving because...because, look, I've had these feelings, about you, for a really long time and they're _not good_. I can't keep being here, with them. With you.”

“Feelings,” Dean repeated, thickly, eyes on the table. “Like, you hate me or something?”

“I'm in love with you.”

It came out too fast and Dean's reaction went too slow, eyes sweeping up, confused. Revolted too, from the way his whole face twitched, jaw tight. Everything tight, one hand a ball on the table, the other squeezing at the glass so hard Sam expected it to break.

“But I can't be, obviously, and at this point? It's just fucking me up. So I have to go.”

Nothing moved. The whole bar stilled, the whole world. Sam kept breathing, sure, his eyes fixed on Dean's hands on the table, the absent drumming of his index finger and his middle, a dull thud that Sam certainly couldn't hear, so his brain was providing the soundtrack. Thumping, like the headache he'd get in about ten seconds when Dean clocked him.

No telling how much time it took before Dean spoke, tentative, detached. “Did I...do something? Or say something? Like, to make you feel that way?”

“No. I just do. I always have.”

Dean wasn't gone yet, so that was good.

_No, it wasn't, it was meaningless._ He was being polite, probably sickly curious but beyond that, this was probably it, probably one of the last times he'd ever see Dean. What could they have, after this?

“Y'know, since you started seeing that shrink - “

“Dean, no,” Sam said, quiet to offset Dean's sudden loudness.

“Sam, _yes_ ,” Dean countered, still jut as angry-loud as before, no stopping him once he got started sometime. “That jerk's got you all fucked up, got you thinkin' things that aren't there, turning you all around on me. Making you wanna run away from your _family_. That's not right. You know it's not right, you know it's not true.”

“That's why I went to see him in the first place. Because of it. Because of trying to deal with it on my own since forever.”

Their hands were so close on the table.

_If not now..._

Sam crept his fingers over, hadn't felt much of _anything_ but anger until then but at the first brush against Dean, the hook of index over index, he felt like he was going to shatter. Halfway to a heart attack and digging down into panic, into the swell in his chest and the disbelief in his eyes but Dean didn't move.

Now _that_ was pity.

“So when you fucked the doc?”

“Dean, don't. Don't make it worse.”

“You call him _Dean_? Get to act out whatever you wanted, right? You said he'd do _anything_.”

“I don't want to talk about that.”

“Fine. Fine, so, how come you've always been so goddamned eager to leave then, huh? Running away for college, running now. If you _love_ me - “

“You don't. You're like...incapable. And it's sick anyway, so...I mean, you forced it outta me, okay? I was all set to take it to the grave. Still kinda wish I could.”

“Well, fuck,” Dean mumbled. In a few seconds, he pulled his hand away, out from under Sam's. He wasn't looking and Sam was staring. But not falling apart, somehow. No, he was strung too tight for that.

“I'll go,” Sam offered. Most sensible solution. Better than sitting there. Staring at Dean, overthinking every little motion.

“Don't have to.”

Sam nodded, lips stretched tight and closed across his mouth, already getting up off the high stool. There had to be more to say, there had to be an 'I'll call you' or 'you can help me pack' or even some epithet from Dean, any number of them. But there was just his brother hunched over the nearly empty pitcher, tense backed. Avoidance.

It could have gone worse.

It could have gone better.

Or, it could have not gone at all. And now he had to tell Cas, who wouldn't judge him at all for it. Who'd ask, 'how did that feel?' and pet his hair and make him dinner and wipe away tears. And plan for the future and probably pity him, at least a little, but if that was bisected by love, that wasn't too bad.

Sam drove home, lonely bare home, exactly what he deserved. Was Dean doing the same thing? Plodding into his quiet, empty house? Throwing himself on the couch, rethinking every single fucking one of this life choices?

Hours later, Sam got the answer. Propped up in bed, looking for houses in Washington on his laptop and his phone buzzed. Again and again, angry bee against the cheap wood bedside table.

And there were ten pictures of Dean that night, Dean with a dick in his mouth. Dean getting fucked somewhere dark and cramped, the back of his car or the back of bar or _jesus_ , maybe a fucking alley. Strong hands around his neck so he had the other guy taking the picture, clearly. They kept coming.

Sam turned his phone off. Fell asleep immersed in another state, in dream-like houses he couldn't ever really see himself deserving, and when he half-dreamed about it, when he half-remembered it the next morning? There were three cars in the driveway, three bodies in the kitchen, dancing around each other.

Dreams were dumb, impossible, disorienting things.

 

* * *

 

Dean dragged himself around. No other word for it. Just this fog he had to plow through, every day. Just kept going. Everything the same, basically. Work, blow off early, drink, drink, drink, pick up. But it wasn't the same. No, cause there was this _thing_. Or a couple things. Several things, looming like things didn't usual do over Dean. Usually, it all got washed away in a tide of booze and fucking but this shit just wouldn't blow.

Now this, this was the kind of stuff you told your therapist about.

So he was gonna do that. Definitely.

Even though half this shit was because of Cas.

Whatever.

Dean let himself in, late by twenty minutes, pretty sure he was clouded with whiskey breath in a permanent fashion. Everything looked the same in the dark entry, darker now than when Dean had started seeing Cas. It was getting to winter, getting to eight hours of daylight, getting to brooding hibernation and foot-stamping cold. But this house felt warm, even as it got darker.

Cas in the kitchen, at the table, watching. Quiet and watching Dean walk in. He just hovered in the doorway. No greeting. But Cas gestured to the chair across the table, already pulled out, and started with, “We need to have a frank discussion, Dean.”

Dean closed up right away, crossed his arms, stayed in the doorway, leaned against it on one shoulder. Maybe he'd sit down later. But for now, this was fine. “Guess we do. I got some _concerns_.”

“You do.” Cas stated it, flat, wide mouth a straight stern line.

“Mmhm. 'Bout you and my brother.”

Cas didn't even raise an eyebrow, bat an eyelash, nothing. So Dean went and sat, tugged the chair out far enough to touch the wall.

“By all means,” Cas gestured, moved back himself. Waited.

“Told me you two were hooking up.”

“Is that how he said it?”

“Nah. Told me you two were like, _so_ totally in love and that you were basically running away together.”

“That's definitely not how he said it.”

“What, no 'how does that make you feel, Dean?'”

“Would you really tell me how it honestly made you feel?”

“Makes me pretty angry. Makes me kinda feel like you're taking advantage of Sammy.”

Almost looked like Cas wanted to laugh, or something. His face twitched a bit strange, fingers drumming on the table, quiet and dull. But he didn't say anything.

And now Dean couldn't stop talking.

“I know you think you're probably doing the right thing, right? Cause he's so sad and sweet, cause he probably looks at you like you hung the moon. Cause you think you can make him better, right? Something like that? Just whisk him away and take away all his trouble with a regular course of pity fucking. Maybe you'll even get him off the booze. Give him some direction. It's all real noble, Cas, seriously. Except maybe this ain't the first time, huh? I know some of you fucking doctors use your cushy little offices like fucking bars at last call. Seen the movies, read a few books. Always shit in the papers, ain't there? Malpractice suits and all kinds of shit.”

Dean paused, leaned back in his chair, slouched, waiting. No reaction from Cas though. Just the challenge of his dark blue eyes holding Dean's, his general air of authority.

“Anyway,” Dean sighed out, “What I'm saying is, if you hurt my brother, I will seriously fuck you up.”

Cas's face went harder, Dean watched it, watched his stubbled jaw flex and contract. His fingers stopped drumming at the table. So no sound in the whole kitchen now, just the staring. Until Cas huffed out a little laugh and shook his head.

“I said we'd have a frank, honest discussion, Dean, so we're going to.”

“Bring it on,” Dean opened his arms wide, scraped his chair back to the table and crossed his arms on it.

“I know what Sam told you.”

“Course you know. You're the one that made it all up.”

“You know that's not true.”

“Whatever. So maybe he...whatever. You definitely beefed the whole thing up though, just so you'd have something to do.”

“I didn't. It would have been a lot easier if Sam had walked into my house and told me he hated you. That's what I'm used to dealing with. But...that he loves you, Dean? That was the first thing out of his mouth. And I told him not to tell you, by the way. Ever.”

“Oh, uh huh, why's that?”

“Because of this,” Cas gestured absently towards Dean. “And because of how you've responded, in the past, to even the most normal kind of fraternal affection.”

“What?”

Cas stared for a while. They both stared at each other, hard and steely but uncertain, tetherless too. “Tell me about when he left before.”

Dean felt little stabs behind his eyes, slow beginning of some kind of headache. He needed a drink in a permanent kind of way but also in a very real very necessary kind of way for this moment, just this one exactly. Right hand clenched and his brain forced a 'fuck it' attitude, forced his hand into his jacket for the flask. But he was nice about it, at least, shoving it across the table once he'd swallowed two big mouthfuls. Not having to force a smile when Cas surprisingly accepted it.

So Dean was going to talk about it. Just a bit. Just the facts.

“Well, for starters, cause I'm sure he already told you _some_ version of this shit, he totally lied to me. Repeatedly. 'Bout leaving. Cause we had this agreement, right? Had it since he was a freshman. He'd wrap up high school and we'd spend a year doing whatever, while he figured out what he was gonna do. It'd be great, like some road trip, like some movie, y'know?”

Just the thought of _that_ , the amazing year they'd spent four years planning and talking up, made Dean's skin goosebump, made his throat prickle like some annoying allergy.

“So, senior year comes. I'm just working shit jobs, y'know? Construction, autobody, whatever. Dad was doing some bodyguard shit for someone, like some mayor or state senator or something, I forget what the whole thing was. Wasn't any kind of official payroll for neither of us. But that was the usual. We stayed in one place for like, months. It was kinda nice. So Sam starts bringing home these long ass applications, trying to hide 'em but I had enough forced on me by well-meaning guidance counsellors not unlike yourself that I knew what that shit was. He told me he's just fillin' em out for extra marks, doing the admissions essays for a better grade in English class. Dumb fuck that I am, I believed him.”

Even thirteen years on, Dean felt stupid for it. Who'd stay up until 2am working on fake admissions essays? Run themselves ragged over nothing? Stupid, so fucking stupid.

“One day, I get home early. Usually did, cause work'd start at like, 6am or whatever, when it was construction. Sometimes earlier. So I'd drag my dead ass home in the afternoon, two or three or whatever. Sam had all these sudden extracurricular nerd clubs, so he was usually later. So I get home, and there's this letter, big thing, stickin' outta the mailbox. Addressed to Sam, from Brown University. Fuckin' Providence, Rhode Island. So that's weird.”

Dean trailed off and Cas prompted, probably looked genuinely interested but Dean wasn't looking. “What did you do with it?”

“Hid it. Under my mattress. Hid the other four. Fucking Stanford, Tulane, forget the other two. Doesn't matter. I opened 'em all though. Three full scholarships. The others were like, partials or some other complicated shit. Y'know, other families woulda been happy. Over-fucking-joyed. But I figured dad wouldn'tve cared. He was proud, actually.”

“And you?”

“The kid lied to me. Wasn't supposed to do that. We had plans, he'd promised, I made him promise. Just one year before he fucked off and grew up.”

“That was important to you?”

“Yeah, it was important to me,” Dean scoffed, realized he was actually talking. It didn't feel great. Cas still had the flask and stared at it, but didn't ask for it back.

“Why?”

“Cause I knew, once he got to college, once he saw what actual families were like? Once he...once he got away? That'd be it. We'd still be friends and all that but. Wouldn't be the same. Dad wouldn't leave and grunt, “Take care of Sammy,” anymore. I'd be making dinner for one. Still drinking for two though. But. It'd just be different. Bad different.”

“So...he lied, and you combated that hurt with more lying.”

“Right.” Dean didn't argue that because the shit that was coming up was worse than just mere lies. The reactions, the feelings that still felt fresh and how was that possible?

“How did he find out,?”

“I lined up the letters for him. See, he'd come home after school and make a peanut butter sandwich. Every day, same routine. So I lined em up on the counter nice and neat for him to see, first thing. And he saw and he tried to apologize and made up all kinds of excuses but it didn't matter. Cause they weren't real, cause he couldn't stop fucking grinning and looking at them and – like he was _happy_. Happy he was leaving.”

The rest swerved dangerous. Dean didn't want to talk about it, desperate to fumble out of it. But if Sam already told, if Sam already spilled his end of the story, then jesus fuck, Cas knew it already and making him say any of it out loud was sick. Just plain sick. Wouldn't help either of them heal or whatever the hell this was supposed to be about. Long term, it meant nothing anyway. Sam had gone away. They hadn't seen each other for a year. That was that.

“How did you react?”

“You already fucking know,” Dean blurted out, miserable, sinking back, looking at anything but Cas and shrugging. “Sam told me he was going to Stanford. His dream school. I cried like a pussy. Like a dumb little pussy baby, like some dramatic fucking diva. Couldn't get outta bed for a week.”

He'd never cried like that before. Just thinking about it made his chest tighten. Standing in that kitchen, watching Sam clutch those letters, watching his face light up. Nothing Dean could ever do, ever say could make Sam look like that. Cause he was leaving and he was happy about it and then the crying started. Dean still remembered, so sharp, all of it bubbling up and out of him and he landed in his bed, somehow and Sam was right behind him, those papers still clutched in his hand. Then he'd curled up around Dean and said...what? _I'm sorry_ and _it's okay_ and _I have to I have to I have to._

“So, guess I was depressed. Or having some kinda...break. I dunno,” Dean tried to wrap it up, even though there was more but wasn't there always more, lurking somewhere? Hiding around the corner? “Got over it though.”

“Can you understand now, in light of what Sam's told you, why he wanted to go?”

“No,” Dean said, incredulously. “You love someone, you stay with em.”

“Even if they don't love you back?”

“Yeah.”

“And the bus station?”

“What about it?” Dean inched his eyes up to Cas's because he knew where this was going too.

“Sam told you he loved you.”

“Yeah.”

“You couldn't say it back, just once?” Cas's tone went harsh, hard, spat it out and Dean felt it slap him across the face.

“He knows. Jesus, we don't say shit like that, we just don't.”

“Knowing and hearing it are two very different things.”

“Y'wanna take a swing or what?” Dean spread his arms out, easier to make dumb jokes about it, always, to try and incite something he understood so much better than _talking_.

Of course Cas wouldn't take that bait though. He slid the flask noisy across the table, sending it back to Dean. “Just tell him, just once. Just one time, and you'll see what it does and how much he needed it.”

“Whatever,” Dean grumbled, angry quiet because that needled the hell out of him. “What about _my_ needs? To like, _not_ say shit like that?”

“Your needs,” Cas chuckled out, but there was no amusement in it, just dry and rough and he scraped his hand over his face, stood up. “All you need is apocalyptic levels of alcohol and someone to watch you fuck. That should never have been you brother, by the way.” Cas said it all over his shoulder while he stood in front of the sink.

“So the whole thing's my fault?”

“No, but you're not innocent either.” After a few seconds of seeming stillness, Cas reached up, opened a cupboard and Dean couldn't help quirk a little smile.

That's where the booze was, he saw, and that was maybe the most unprofessional thing out of the vast ocean of unprofessional things that had happened so far. He watched Cas stretch for the blue label Johnnie Walker, still sealed up, so much better than the crap Dean poured in his flask every morning.

“You really can't see it?” Cas came back with two glasses, and Dean's mouth watered at the crack of the seal.

“See what?”

“How he looks at you?” Cas raised his eyebrows, looked right at Dean while he poured, while he slid the glass over. “It's his eyes, even when you aren't here and he's talking about you. Every time. So I know it's there when he's with you too. I'm trying to figure out if you're truly incapable of processing things like that or if you're wilfully ignoring it.”

“You're an asshole, Doc.”

Cas sort of ghosted a smile, nodded, raised his glass, stretching it across the table.

What a fucking toast. Dean accepted.

“Obviously, I'm going to recommend you see someone else. Not just because I'm moving. But because this is getting even more toxic. But I also know you're probably not going to talk to anyone else. You're just going to keep sending Sam pictures of you getting fucked. You'll visit and it'll fuck him up every time. He might not _ever_ be happy, truly happy, or even present. There's no...closure, with something like this.”

“Can't you just tell 'im to never see me again or get a restraining order or something?”

“Do you think he'd do that?”

Dean frowned, drank, frowned. Didn't answer.

“If I made him do that, or made him promise to not see you? He'd do it anyway, as some kind of sick secretive thing. He'd go crawling back to you, over and over. It'd be much worse. So I'll settle for the other bullshit that goes along with allowing you to continue...whatever it is you're doing with him.”

What was it, anyway? Dean's mouth went tight and he stared at his drink. What _was it_?

“I think we just had a fucked up life,” Dean answered himself, out loud, might as well. “And maybe he's less fucked up than me, cause he can still actually feel something, y'know? Even when I'm plowing the prettiest little thing, there's...nothing. Just nothing. Big empty nothing.”

That sucked, saying it. Made his hands shake, made him gulp at the whiskey like water. But he watched Cas drink too and hell, maybe they should have had every talk like this.

“What about when you involve Sam?”

_Yeah. What about that._

“Is it better, with him watching?”

“Better?” Dean repeated, dimly, not looking up, vaguely aware of the glass being refilled.

“Think about it. Think about a few days ago. That threesome. Or the one from before.”

“Aw, he fuckin' told you about that?”

“Of course he did. It fucked him up, so he told me about it. Are you really surprised?”

“No.”

“So. Think about my question. Does it feel different, when he's involved?”

Weeks ago, Dean would have probably seethed and smashed the glass against the wall and threatened Cas to some degree.

So what was different now? Because now, he was actually considering the question, easily sliding back into fucking that guy on Sam's couch and all the _stuff_.

“I like people watchin', so, sure, yeah.”

“That's not a real answer. If it was just some joe fuck off the street, watching you fuck someone? Would it honestly be the same?”

“So I like showing off kinda specifically for my brother. Cause, like I said, we're all kindsa fucked up.”

“God,” Cas muttered, shaking his head. “I really can't help you, Dean. I can barely even help Sam, but at least I can do _something_ to penetrate all that misery. But you?” Cas shook his head.

That kinda hurt, unexpectedly. It wasn't even the time he'd wasted or the money he'd sunk but that, apparently, he was hopeless.

“So what,” Dean grumbled, “That's on you.”

“I think it's about equal, Dean. If you spent five minutes thinking about yourself, your actions, your feelings - “

“Then what? Hm? You're so goddamned wrapped up in this shit, you're still like, salivating for me to admit it so you can jerk off to your creepy incest fantasies. Did you blow a load when Sam told you?”

Cas said nothing, which was satisfying in its own way. Dean just went on, got to plow through the dense silence with bullshit like he liked to do. So maybe Cas knew, maybe that's why he kept quiet, but Dean went on, undaunted.

“Is _that_ your specialty? Extra-close, borderline or, hell, sometimes totally illegal family hookups? Cause, I gotta tell you, any other shrink callin' himself a doctor wouldn't actually let himself get so mixed up in this whole thing. So either it's a personal fetish or a professional niche, but either way, it's pretty fucked up. How come you haven't recommended more of the whole 'roleplay' thing, huh?” Dean used aggressive air quotes, even though he hated shit like that. That, more than anything made him feel kind of dickish; he was barely keeping track of what came out of his mouth though, fast and punch-harsh. “I know you pushed that shit on Sam, and now he's all mixed up thinking he's _in love,_ and that he's gotta get away from me. You just...”

_Want him to yourself?_

Shit, at least he didn't finish it out loud but the train of thought in his head formed itself fully and he frowned at his drink.

“You _appear_ to be jealous.”

“I'm not.”

He watched Cas shrug and clam up. Fill the glasses again. If it felt like the doctor had a point, well, Dean could drink that away just as easily as he felt it. Twist it up into something else.

“So. If you had your way, if I were some pliant brain dead _client_ of yours, what'd you suggest? Huh? Gimme the full run down.”

It was a trap because everything was. But Cas thought about it, visibly, watching Dean and the glass swirling in his hand in turns, then the table for a while. Then he looked up, face drawn, bluest goddamned eyes in the world, kicked puppy face so sincere, and, “Come upstairs, Dean.”

Nothing else to say but _yes_.

 

* * *

 

Alright, Sam knew better. He was in the wrong, just popping over to Cas's, attempting to surprise a therapist who kept odd hours and worked from home. He knew there'd be a 50/50 chance someone would be over, parked in the driveway where he usually did. Someone confronting a fear of god-knows-what, or crying about a cat, or whatever the hell other people did in there. Sam didn't know from regular people problems.

Ten minutes ago, he veered the van around the corner and pulled to a stop two houses down because, Dean's car. Friday night, late, and there's Dean. And Cas.

Dean and Cas.

Not that he can see them. But the kitchen light shone through the front hall, out the door, onto the porch. Ten minutes ago, though.

He watched shadows moving past, watched that light flip out. Drove the van up a bit and cut it off again. Guest room light upstairs flicked on after a moment, through the sheer curtains but he couldn't see anything for the angle.

_Dean and Cas._

Phone out, he thought about texting one of them. Calling both of them. Going Dean and sending pictures. Pictures of what? Of the house he's staking out now, or the abject horror gnawing at his insides?

_Too direct._

So, leave, which is the sensible option. Go back to the apartment with a week left on the lease. Think about it and don't think about it and _then_ text Cas in like, two hours. It'll be over by then. And anyway, Cas will _tell him_ about it, didn't he ask for that? Then he'll jerk off to the recap.

And definitely never, ever mention the stalking.

It's not stalking. He had good intentions.

He still does.

Even climbing out of the van with his jaw clenched, Sam had good intentions. Cas didn't lock his door, Cas never locked his door. The door upstairs too; soft light spilled out at the top of the stairs, snagged by shadows while Sam slipped the front door shut, so quiet. Too good at quiet.

Sam sucked in a breath and waited at the bottom of the stairs, watching. Trying to remember if they creaked but he'd never even paid attention to that. Why would he? Inside's better than outside climbing the wall but, front of the house and if the neighbours hadn't called the cops yet for the nondescript vaguely creepy white van out front, the monster scaling the walls would do it.

It'd be easy to slip right back out the door.

Or wait in the kitchen. In the dark. Scare the shit outta them.

Barely any noise floating down the stairs, just dark quiet, voices too deep to carry. And if they did? If he heard everything?

The stairs stretched like a mountain. Up and up into a totally different atmosphere and Sam climbed with his head down, ears pricked. Any second this whole thing would be up. Rocks in his stomach. Even at the top, no making out what they said. He heard a sigh. Clearly a sigh. Shuffling around, enough that he pressed back against the wall beside the doorway and squeezed his eyes shut, held his breath.

What was he doing here?

Even for them, even for this, it struck him as _too_ fucked up. Creeping around the hallway in the dark. Fucking everything up.

Brief payoff.

Over the rustling, Dean said, “I can't do it, man.”

“Why?” Cas sounded further in the room, softer than usual.

“I can't just pretend like that. Doesn't work for me.”

Okay.

_Okay_.

Pretend what?

Sam kept his breath quiet as possible, harder and harder since all the air in the hall evaporated. But he couldn't keep it up forever.

“Because I don't look like him?”

“No, jeez. Because...it's stupid. It's not the same as actually _doing_ it.”

“Would you? If you had the chance? Would you really have sex with your brother, do you think?”

Sam heard himself gasp before he could stop it. The hall tilted.

Then too much quiet, a blanket of it and Sam opened his eyes, tensed, knew what was coming.

If Dad could see him now, putting all those spying and lying skills to use, and Dean too, wielding those same skills because that was coming. Sure enough. Dean jerked his head out the doorway, grabbed a handful of Sam's shirt and hauled him into the room. Sam went with barely a flail, edged himself away quick to press against another wall, smoothing his hair back

“I'm sorry, I'm - “

“You call him, Doc?” Dean spat, eyes wild mad between the both of them.

Sam stared at the floor between his boots, shaking his head.

“I didn't,” Cas said; Sam felt Cas's eyes on him. But he couldn't look. “Sam?”

“I was just coming over,” Sam stared, trying to look at Cas but he couldn't make it past the chair in front of him, past Cas's half-undone pants. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“Did you somehow _miss_ my car in the driveway?”

“No,” Sam turned his head to Dean but he couldn't look at his brother either. He didn't even get past his feet. Grey socks, boots off like he'd made himself comfortable. One hand crept along the wall, fingertips stretching to the door frame, body sliding along after it. “I'm going to go.”

Sam turned so fast he rammed his shoulder into the door, just another dull ache in a series of weird pains.

“No, you're fucking not,” Dean growled behind him, grabbed him again by the collar like a kid, shoving him around harder this time. Sam stumbled into the middle of the room, looking down forever, hunched, some petulant whipping boy. For a second, glancing up at Dean through the fan of hair, he expected a punch. And Dean stood ready to go, one foot forward, shoulders squared, just like they learned. If he meant it, that's fair, that's more than fair.

Sam left his hair hanging in his face, hands limp at his sides and _just do it, do it, hit me_. Bad enough on the inside that he might as well let Dean make it the outside too.

Cas wedged between them, one hand on Sam, the other on Dean. Said something Sam didn't catch. Dean stood down, stalked past Cas to sit heavy on the bed, perched on the edge like a cat. Still ready.

“I shouldn't be here,” Sam said, trying to push forward again. If he just left, if he just left _now_ before it got any worse – but Cas twisted both his hands onto Sam's chest and he had no strength to fight back.

“No, you shouldn't,” he agreed. He brushed some of Sam's hair behind his ear, left his palm on Sam's cheek, hot and soft and Sam finally looked at him. He just looked tired. Couldn't blame him. “But...Dean shouldn't be here either. I shouldn't be here, indulging either of you. But here we are.”

Sam swallowed. How could Cas still be so...Cas?

“He broke into your _house_ ,” Dean reminded him, “He was spying on us! Jesus, Cas.”

“And you showed up half an hour late, fresh off a bender, starting on another one. Lying your ass off. So what do I do? What do I do with the both of you?”

“Call the cops,” Dean muttered, and Sam finally looked. No surprise Dean wasn't serious but what to make of his face? Downcast eyes, hands busy at the hem of his shirt, the seams of his jeans, lips pressed tight together. God, but he looked rough, definitely in the middle of something bad.

“Just let me go, please, Cas? This isn't me, I don't...I don't know.” Sam sighed, and it wasn't an apology or an excuse or anything. “I'm just fucked up. Over this, over everything.”

“Stay, please?” Cas blinked up at him and god, Sam would have done anything he'd asked just then, anything anything. “I might never get to talk to you both, at once, and I'd like to. Can we?”

That seemed awful. The prospect made Sam's heart pound harder, want to pull away. But he nodded, swallowed and forced out, “Yes,” and kept his eyes on Cas, watched him turn to Dean.

“Dean?” Cas had to prompt him. Shocker.

“Dunno if I feel much like talking anymore, Doc.”

_Of course._

Sam clenched his jaw, wanted Dean to hit him yet again, to get that blossom of pain to focus on instead of the concrete in his chest, the lump in his throat. “It's okay,” he told Cas, big hand over his, sliding it off his cheek, squeezing it for a moment and letting it go. “Call me, okay? When you're done. I'll go.”

He barely got any of it out without a crack in his voice, barely swept past Cas with a convincing enough grimace and felt himself crumbling apart in the doorway. Already. _Just keep going just get down those stairs._ For a while, it worked. Then.

_Then_.

A hand on his shoulder and if he turned around and it was Cas? Well, that'd be followed by more falling apart, probably, grabbing him, grabbing and not letting go and not caring about the ridiculous tears or roiling emotions.

But.

The grasp felt harder than Cas had ever really touched him.

Sam reeled around anyway, and it was Dean.

“Wait.”

He looked sincere, or at least not...trying. Not putting up that front. Soft, almost, a little around the eyes. Especially once he really looked.

Sam saw it, the big-brother consideration of his face, the terror at the wobbling chin, anger at the blotchy skin, fist clenching at the watery fill of eyes that Sam knew he could see. _Well, fine, let him see it._ When was the last time he'd cried so Dean could see?

He must have been a child.

Deans hand squeezed his shoulder again, swept down his arm and, horribly, he hooked two wide fingers onto Sam's thumb.

“Stay, okay?”

He always said yes to Dean, even now, especially now, especially with the rest of his fingers twisting against Sam's like that. Thick and heavy and hot, anchoring him into the room. It would probably be better if he left, still, but now it wasn't an option.

Dean tugged, and Sam followed.

 


	11. Chapter 11

Back when Cas had an office, way back when he first started, he wanted a wall of pictures of happy clients. Just for himself. But. No one wanted their pictures taken, not a one. They didn't want to know he got attached to them, in any way. Easy to figure out.

But sweet christ, if he had that dreamt-of photoboard now? This was _nothing_ he could show anyone. He couldn't even brag about it. But it was a fucking accomplishment, no matter how they'd gotten here. Sam and Dean, same room. With him. Dean pink-cheeked half-drunk and Sam sad as Cas had ever seen him, even with Dean doting over him for a few seconds, leading him – by the hand – to the bed, steering him to sit while he heaved himself down in a chair.

Cas stood awkward between them, utterly disarrayed. He knew where he had to be though. It felt like drawing lines when he sat down beside Sam on the bed. Even Dean nodded a bit, Cas was sure he caught it.

_Talking_ now, that's what had to happen; Cas rushed to do his pants back up, turning on a dime into this way too real something else. He didn't know where to start.

“What were you doing? Can I ask?” Sam went first. He didn't look at Dean but did he _ever_ look at Cas with this gentle head-tilt and too much blinking and his huge shoulders hunching so he looked at least a foot smaller somehow.

Cas wanted to spill everything.

He managed to choke, “That's up to Dean.”

Dean laughed, dry. “Right” he huffed, slapping at the arm of the chair, “Of course it is. Cause it wasn't like it was _your_ idea or anything.”

“What was your idea?” Sam asked, way too soft. This was fucking unbelievable.

Cas didn't say anything. Knew he should and wanted to but it wouldn't go, every word he'd ever thought in his life stuck in his throat.

“First time in his life he's ever clammed up, huh?” Dean muttered, paused, launched forward _thank god_. “The good doctor Novak here thought, in light of recent events, that our last appointment together was gonna be a fuckin' orgy of excess. So he called me out on a buncha my bullshit, we drank some pretty top shelf whiskey and then he decided he was gonna blow me. But while I called him _Sam_. So. That's what happened.”

“Started to happen,” Cas finally jumped in. The way Dean said it was crap. _Always_. Why did he have to do that? “Dean stopped it.”

Why were they staring at each other? Dean all stormy green from feet away and Cas felt like his eyes were so so telling. He felt Sam looking at him too. This whole goddamned _thing_.

“Okay,” Sam said, just, “That's okay, I don't care.”

“No, no,” Dean punched out, “Not like..listen, I stopped it cause, I can't just play pretend like that. Like you guys can. Wasn't real. Course, now you're actually here.” Whole volumes in Dean's averted gaze, the one-shouldered shrug.

He _meant_ it.

Which was good, because if he didn't, if he was dicking around, Cas was prepared to kick him down the fucking stairs.

Still.

“Dean? What're you -”

“I'm surprised you've gone like, two minutes without suggesting it yourself, Doc,” Dean finally raised his eyes and there was the familiar challenge, the hard edges. But he glanced over at Sam and they melted away in a nervous tide. “He's here, I'm here, you're here. You can like...mediate. Right? Help us out? I think we gotta do _something._..”

It's not like Cas hadn't thought about it. He'd spent the last month and a half trying not to. Trying and failing, because it was fucking _hot_ , because he knew exactly what Sam wanted to do and by now, he knew pretty much how Dean would react and the whole thing was stupid porno hot and dangerous to continue envisioning, even for personal purposes.

From a clinical standpoint, it was a bad fucking idea too. He'd been drinking. Dean too. And then, Sam, who had basically broken in, unlocked door or no. If this was happening, there should be preparation and fifty different lists of nos and non-negotiables and _a video camera too_ like for really professional dissection later on.

Fuck.

No matter how it happened, Cas wasn't a professional. Not anymore. Not for a long time. So what did it matter? _Fine_ was withering on the tip of his tongue when Sam went first.

“No.”

Just that. So simple.

“Excuse me?” Dean snorted out. Cas watched between them, never even considered stopping it. “Why not? Thought you wanted this. And Cas is here, so -”

“Doesn't matter. It's just...to you, it's just another thing, like another conquest or whatever and then you'll be over it.”

“Nah, that's not -”

“Yeah, Dean, that's how it works for you.”

Even Dean couldn't argue that. Not for a second anyway, but Cas watched him collecting his thoughts, arming himself. Twisting his game around. Didn't take very long.

“That's the thing, like, the main difference, I think,” Dean started, slow, lips pursed out all thoughtful. He got up and shuffled towards them, stood awkward for a half second. “Cas is helpin' me figure it out, actually. Yeah, I know that might surprise you, Doc. But, I dunno. It's like, you _know_ stuff, Sammy. You just do. Even if it's shitty stuff.”

Dean stood so close, right in front of the two of them. Like he was going to make a move any second, like he was winding his way towards it with approximately a million times more hesitancy than Cas had ever seen. Even _that_ looked good on him, his lashes fanned under his down-turned eyes, thick fingers rubbing against each other. He probably wanted to leave. It was probably taking everything in him not to do it and of course the one goddamned time he stayed, here was Sam. Saying no.

Dean sank onto the bed, half on each of them. Awkward straddle but it worked and they had plenty of time to get away. Cas didn't. Sam didn't. Dean draped on them like a fucking dream, one heavy arm over Cas's shoulder and, he saw, the other on Sam's but much more delicate, gently brushing down onto his chest and staying there.

“I gotta do a thing,” Dean continued, finally, his voice so much softer for the closeness, “Before I know how I'm feelin' about it. Does that make sense? Man, I wish I could be like you, sometimes. You always _know_.”

“So say you hate it then, huh? Then what?” Sam argued. He wasn't looking at Dean, he was staring jaw-flexed straight ahead, at the covered window, at nothing. Probably because if he looked, he'd give in, and Cas knew that pretty well by now. That _feeling_. Out of control, reckless hot. That feeling defined him since November.

“Hate's a little strong,” Dean muttered. “Don't think I could. How 'bout you think it over, Sammy. How 'bout I make out with your boyfriend while you figure it out?”

Barely a question and Dean looked at Cas right away, raised his eyebrows and Cas huffed out half a laugh. Goddamn Dean. He didn't even wait for an answer, diving in with his obscene lips, shuffling more in Cas's lap than Sam's, but still jammed between them.

Cas knew, again, that he ought to stop it. This was the exact thing Dean did that was so distressing, this whole coercion song and dance and he was falling right into the trap where Sam was resisting it so admirably. But then, he'd had so much practice, even when it was in his face. And it'd been in his face like this before. And it was fucking terrible to subject him to it again.

Cas squinted his eyes open, saw Sam with his still closed, but his head tipped into Dean's hand, on his face, breath audible quick while he nuzzled into it. That might be enough for the rest of his life, that soft sweet touch, his brother's so sought after fingers on his face. Probably the most intimate touch he'd ever had from Dean.

And he had such a good fucking point about this whole thing.

Fuck. Cas couldn't stand it.

It was probably far too overwhelming, but he didn't think; he slid his hand into Sam's hair, up the back of his neck and through the soft strands, angled away from Dean for a second. “It's okay, Sam,” Cas said, and he wanted it to be, wanted that to be enough. “You don't have to – we don't have to do anything.” Dean eagerly kissing down his neck kind of belied the point. He wasn't stopping. Cas didn't want him to either.

And they got close; Dean's head kept nudging against Sam's, ever so slightly, scratchy sandpapery stubble on top of the heavy breathing, on top of the conflicted thoughts in Cas's head. Everything crawled and time absolutely stopped when he saw Dean brush his lips against Sam's ear, so lightly against the bottom and then again underneath, again down his jaw. The most tentative-sweet, a whole different person suddenly.

Dean was unsure, plainly, but they all were. Someone was shaking; maybe they were all doing it, a shared tremor before Sam's head turned slow-motion under Cas's hand. Dean twisted blind and found Sam's mouth. Right in front of Cas, right on top of him. They were fucking kissing with eyes squeezed shut and tension so incredible Cas thought the room might split apart from it.

He expected one of them to stop, really, and he figured it might be Sam, but, teenage-clumsy, like they were both new, it continued. Like, front-porch, tree-house sweet. Very unlike anything he'd shared with either of them, ever, and that fit. It really did.

It wasn't a race for the first time, it wasn't fucking loaded like it should have been, rightfully. From where Cas sat, it looked perfect.

Cinematic first kiss.

Sam twisted away first, breathing laboured as hell, searching for Cas and finding him easily. Maybe just for the distraction but Cas was soaring happy for Sam's lips against his, for the same kind of sweet kiss he'd just watched. It was so good like this, he thought, arms everywhere and soft warmth, delicate noises of Dean kissing his way down Sam's neck.

It was happening. No one screamed or cried, no more fight left. He had a hand on each of them, pressing Sam closer, urging Dean up until they breathed hard against each other, overlapping mouths and bodies, so easy to fall into. He couldn't tell where anyone started or ended and that must be very freeing for them.

Of all things, Dean's _mediate_ stuck in his head. He had a responsibility, didn't he? He started this. Started all of this. He had to keep them safe.

Which meant _not_ kissing into the humid tangle of mouths for a minute, meant propping his forehead against them and resting and they filled the space for him. It seemed like the most grave sin to break the silence and the rhythm of the thing, to inject something like reality into this, seemed absurd to _now_ act like a fucking grown up, but he wasn't sure he could face himself otherwise.

“We need – we have to figure this out,” Cas said, and he thought it would be quiet but it sounded like the loudest thing he'd ever said. Only Dean looked at him; Sam stared at his brother, blinking, kiss stung mouth still opened. “We need to have a plan.”

“Well, I'm gonna...” Dean started and stopped, faint nervous shadow crossing his face again, the most stunning indecision. Cas watched Sam hang on it, lean forward and tense and Dean licked at his lips and started again with a familiar hint of bravado. Just a hint. “I'm thinking I'm gonna end up on my knees here.”

“Is that...what you want?” Cas asked, unable to decide who he wanted to look at. He'd never been more spoiled for choice.

“Yeah,” Dean swallowed and nodded, barely angling towards Sam, more his eyes than his face. “That okay?”

Sam nodded, his forehead falling against the side of Dean's face, shuddering out a breath so hard, Cas felt it. Then Sam's gaze fluttered to Cas with the hottest undercurrent of shyness, almost intolerable. “You too, Cas. Help him?”

Cas jammed between the two of them, sudden and reckless to kiss Sam, not sweet but something else, something hard and full of all this feeling and he wanted so bad to tell Sam he loved him but not with Dean there, no, that was just for the two of them. And this was different. For now.

Dean tugged at their clothes, slightly useless, a little desperate now, twisting himself back into the kissing. Cas let him take over, backing gently away, stripping his shirt off, sliding to his feet and pulling Dean's shirt over his head. And then Dean got Sam's and Cas watched Sam's huge hands spread across Dean's wide back, fingertips digging in for a second, smoothing over muscles. Urging him closer.

Maybe, some other time, two other clients, he'd consider leaving. Letting them work it out on their own. But Sam still wanted him, wanted him sharing nice with Dean so the thought left as quick as it came, and Cas dropped between Sam's legs, pushed the unoccupied thigh as far over as it would go and filled up all that lovely space. _This_ view was spectacular; brothers kissing, shirtless and pressed together sweet and slow. He watched, understood a bit why Dean liked the whole dirty pictures thing so much; this wasn't even _dirty,_ not yet, although he did start kneading Sam's dick through his pants just then, but he still wanted a whole old timey photo album of _this_ , this one moment.

Dean's hands smoothed over Sam's chest, bare except that necklace, and he hooked a finger into it. Sam's body tensed again.

“Saw this the other night. Y'know. With that guy.”

“Don't, c'mon,” Sam huffed out soft, so Cas barely heard it.

“I'm not makin' fun. Couldn't believe it. This ratty old thing.”

Sam shoved on Dean's shoulder but it wasn't hard, a little nudge and Cas felt like he was watching something secret, sacred.

“If you're gonna be a jerk, I'm not doing this.”

“Aw, relax, Sammy,” Dean said, let the necklace drop and Cas remembered saying the same goddamned thing, more than once

It didn't work then just like it didn't work now. But there was a combined effort in wordless sync to make it happen anyway, with Cas unbuttoning Sam's pants and Dean moving in to kiss him again, to say, “I get it, it's alright. Thought about it for the longest damn time. But I get it.”

Cas wasn't sure Dean really got _it_ , Sam in general or the necklace or the whole _thing_ or what. But too much talking, he knew _that_ wasn't good. Couldn't possibly be, knowing the shit that came out of Dean's mouth. Cas went fast after that slightly nerve-wracking realization, tugging Sam's half-hard dick out, stroking it one handed and grabbing Dean's meaty thigh with his other.

Dean didn't hesitate; Cas was surprised, given his usual level of defiance, but he slid right down, tucked beside Cas, between Sam's legs. “Big job, huh?” he said, tried a joking tone that fell flat when his eyes focused on Sam's dick in Cas's hand. Cas swore he gulped. Sam got a hand on each of them, just _there_ at first but quickly insistent, urging both of them forward.

Cas got there first, too busy looking up at Sam to see if Dean finished second because of his own hesitancy or what. But Cas didn't really care either, once he was there, sinking down and stretching his lips around Sam's dick. So maybe he wanted to show off some too. It was pretty wrong but worth it to hear Dean's quiet little _jesus_ beside him. He wasn't even all the way there yet, intent on warming up when Sam fixed that, barely-rough pressing Cas all the way down, nose nestling in the gentle rasp of his trim. Cas was _not_ ready, but in a very real way, he never could be anyway. His eyes watered, entire face burned until Sam let him up in a tide of drool. Cas didn't go far, like he ever would, smearing his lips wetly all along Sam's shaft, tracing veins.

Then Dean was there too, mirrored on the other side. Eyes closed, _squeezed_ closed. Sam's fingers white-knuckled in his hair. Cas followed the long stretch of arm up, more veins popping, muscles all stood out, even in his fucking forearm. His eyes were shut too, same slightly pained face as Dean's. Genetics were something else. Sam's eyes opened on Cas first, veered quick to Dean and then back again. Closed again. Cas couldn't blame him wanting that tiny sanctuary.

Dean took over pretty fast, nuzzling Cas out of the way, choking down what he could, which Cas saw with a twinge of pride, was not as much as he could. It was cute, watching Dean's face go all red under the freckles, wrinkling in concentration. Cas helped, of course he helped, a hand resting against Sam's on Dean's head, coaxing him further down. Not bad, but Cas could teach him a thing or two.

Not like it mattered; every time Cas looked up now, Sam was rapt and fixated but also very very still. And quiet. Still beautiful, always that. They hadn't even worked the whole thing out, Cas realized. He'd been blinded, so sidetracked by all the prospects and then the very _real_ situation in front of him.

It got like, a thousand times more real. Dean popped off his brother's dick totally breathless, wrecked and drooling, lashes wet and fluttery. “Fuck,” he gasped, staring right at Cas, vaguely tranced out. “Fuck, that's huge and I was gonna...I mean...I wanted to kinda maybe get on that.”

Sam jerked his hips so hard he nearly smacked them, could've taken out an eye.

If that was what they wanted, Cas was going to help. There wasn't even a fucking question. “It does seem daunting,” he agreed, still mouthing up and down Sam's shaft, such a long trip, “But it's really, really worth it. You just...you stay there, I'll work on it.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed like, immediately, enough to make Cas scramble away to get the lube. “He's real good at that, Dean. Kinda good at everything.”

Well, that was a glowing review; Cas grinned, reaching into the only stocked drawer in this somewhat staged bedroom. And thank god he kept it that way, full of lube and condoms and anything else anyone might need.

Dean still hadn't responded when he got back over, but that was because his mouth was full again, facing Sam head on with his pants already off for Cas, ostensibly.

He'd seen the picture Sam sent of _basically_ this, Dean on his knees with a dick in his mouth and his ass on full display, but it was fucking magnetic in person. Cas got on his knees behind him, mashed up close to whisper, “Stay on his dick, I'm going to finger you open, okay?”

Dean obeyed, made a muffled noise of agreement.

Cas felt Sam's eyes on him, burning in hard, staring so intense it was tough to meet them. He only did to make sure everything was _okay_ or at least surface-okay, at least not gone south yet. It hadn't. Not in that minute. Surprisingly, Cas was the one stalling since Dean wriggled back against him, tilting his ass up so high he got this sweet little arch in his back. Cas's hand dipped against it automatically, traced the smooth line of it down to his ass. There were even freckles there, a vague dusting against the pale, untanned parts.

They were both so goddamned breathtaking.

Cas went fast and Dean still urged him faster, wordless, glued onto Sam's dick like he was breathing it. Cas knew that feeling, loved that feeling. Felt it in sympathy while he tried to concentrate on Dean, on the very important stretching of Dean. Just one slick finger first, sliding into heat and tightness but it wasn't long before Cas had two in there and his other hand working Dean's dick too.

Sam watched the whole time, watched Cas taking his brother apart for him. It was a fucking honor to be involved at all, to be any kind of catalyst in this situation. He _wanted_ to say something to break up the semi-quiet but nothing seemed right and if even Sam wasn't talking, maybe silence was in order. Dean's noises filled it up nice anyway, choking and wet and just slightly eager. And his dick dripped, down onto Cas's hand, probably a bit on the floor. Lovely mess.

Dean popped off with a heavy breath, twisted around to Cas and _jesus fuck_ , did he look beautiful; lips all red, eyes still watery and bright and, “C'mon, man, do three, don't wanna wait.”

How on earth Cas ever bought that whole wide-eyed 'gee doc I dunno if I like dick' story was beyond him now. Dean loved it, obviously, in the way he loved every bit of attention. Cas gave it to him readily, tented up his fingers and pushed and Dean fucking groaned long and loud, settled back onto Sam's dick in the same breath.

Cas could get him off like this, easily, he knew. He felt it, Dean's dick pulsing under his fist and the sometimes sudden clench of his ass depending on where Cas pushed inside of him. Might be kind of nice to embarrass him like that, make him shoot onto the floor before he'd even had a dick in there. Dean realized too, gasped, twisted away suddenly to catch his breath, to shudder just a bit, leaning against one of Sam's long legs.

“'m ready,” Dean muttered, sighed it out and, well, if he said so, they had to trust him. Cas threw the lube up onto the bed, averted his eyes while he got up because they were _staring_ at each other in this deliriously intense way. It couldn't be good, but fuck, it was amazing hot, palpably tense.

Unbearable.

Cas was in charge of the _safety_ of the whole thing, the mediation, so naturally, he'd be the one to get condoms. He had an assortment in his palm, fanned out and looking for the right one, one of those ulta-thin super-xxl deals. Japanese, little black packet.

But by the time he turned around, Dean was already on Sam's lap, already straddling him and holding himself open and Sam was slick, dick in his hand, hips pushing up and up and _oh_ there went all the pretenses of safety, ever.

Cas dropped the packet onto the table, nudged the drawer closed and stood and watched. Palmed himself through his jeans, still on, still done up but that was fine for now. All he wanted to do was watch this, the slow intense shudder of Dean's body, how he tucked his head into Sam's shoulder. And Sam, this picture of _poise_ , teeth gritted and hips thrusting slow, _slow_ until he was all the way, one hand on Dean' hip and the other fisted tight into the sheets.

Cas didn't know where to go, what to do, felt so out of his body just watching. He knew somewhat how Dean felt; knew the physical part at least but he'd only _played_ at that emotional release and he knew there was no comparison. He studied them, found himself throwing back to that old chestnut of observation, tracked where the hands were, tracked the soft squish of Sam's heavy balls against Dean's gorgeous ass.

But that didn't last long. Sam flipped them, growling power and spreading Dean out so easy underneath him. He didn't miss a beat of fucking either, slow-rocking into him. Dean grasped at him, endlessly scrabbling at his shoulders, his arms, all little baby gasps, surprised quiet noises and wide eyes.

They'd barely started and Sam was kind of destroying his brother.

Still no talking though. How was that even possible, considering these two? Well. That's why Cas was there.

Cas tugged his pants off fast, crept onto the bed on his knees, hopefully a reasonable distance. They both looked when the bed dipped with his weight, Dean breathless and open-mouthed and Sam sort of...determined. Tense and predatory but something _else_ too. It took Cas a few seconds of watching, of close close scrutiny before he got it.

_Restraint_.

The way Sam rolled slow, controlled up into Dean, how far back he was. Holding himself back. Sweet, beautiful Sam. Cas shuffled forward and kissed him while he fucked Dean, hoped his adoration, the safety, hoped he conveyed it in the intimate contact. Sam gave him the tiniest nod when he pulled back, and that was good enough.

Cas sunk back down to Dean, the quietest he'd ever fucking been in two months, and Cas kissed him too, wove his hands through his hair, down his chest, kissed him until he whined and even after that. He was so soft like this, so sweet, so not at all what Cas knew of him. So changed under his brother.

“I'm okay,” Dean gasped, half into Cas's mouth just as he was pulling away, “I'm okay.”

Sam bent down over him, pawed at his chest, got all face to face with Dean, with Cas right there. He heard the soft sounds of them kissing again, panting and kissing. “Do you know yet?” Sam asked, breathless and low, animal edge, “D'you know if you like it, Dean?”

Fuck. Oh just _fuck_.

Dean didn't answer. Sam pulled up, slid his big hand over Dean's neck, half on his face. Staring, _staring_ like he wanted an answer that wasn't going to come. His face even went a little dark, hips snapping harder until Dean was sobbing breath and nearly thrashing against the pillow but he still didn't have an answer.

So enthralling to watch with his dick in his hand but Cas knew it wasn't great, all the silence, the demands. Yeah, Sam deserved an answer but Dean wouldn't give it to him, probably _couldn't._ Cas watched him spinning in the mud, sliding away in thought and he wouldn't have that. No. Not a chance. He needed them _both_ present and alert.

Obviously the best way to do _that_ was to grab his dick and slide it across Dean's cheek, tap it against his mouth until he looked over, until he opened his eyes and took a deep breath, obediently opening his mouth so Cas could nudge inside even at the weird angle. Yeah. _Success_.

Sam bent down again to join Dean, mouths mixing around Cas's hard dick, sliding wet and slick, both of them panting out tandem breaths against it. Oh, those sweet mouths on him, Cas was in fucking heaven, was devoid of all sense of responsibility or adulthood or anything safe. Sam was finally fucking his brother and they were sharing his dick like the biggest, best thank you.

It got choppy once Sam started really hammering, but neither of them moved. Dean's surprisingly high whines vibrated along Cas's shaft, made him gasp just as much as he brothers. Everything dissolved into noisy wet heat, into the bed rocking under Dean, Sam's big body expertly pumping, holding him down, pressing him open everywhere he could. Long minutes of huffed breathing, of nothing but feeling. The whole room was pulsing soaring emotions and Cas swept right along with the whole fucking thing.

Dean twisted off his dick with a long groan, grabbed hard for Sam, stared at each of them like tennis, fast and frantic. “One of you's gotta just...just touch my dick and I'm gonna blow, fucking swear, I - “

“Don't need it,” Sam panted, above him again, rolling deep and long into him.

“Yeah,” Dean argued, “I kinda do. I can't -”

“You're gonna,” Sam huffed, the corner of his mouth lifting in a little smirk.

Dean had more arguments ready, always with the mouth, but Sam cut him right off, twisted his hands down onto the bed and gathered them so easy in one hand, pinned them up over his head. Dean jerked against it for a second, eyes wider than before, all blown out. All trapped and pinned so pretty like that, staring crazy at Sam.

“Just concentrate,” Sam told him, thumping into him so hard, Cas felt it through the mattress. Sam laid his hand on the side of Dean's neck again, grasped hard enough for Cas to see his fingertips go white, the flesh indenting under his grip. “Just think about that big dick in you,” Sam ground out, low, bending so his hair fanned out over Dean, over Cas's dick still caught between them. “Hmm? Feel it, Dean? So good, isn't it? That _angle_?”

It clearly hit him just right because Dean shuddered endlessly, still jerking against Sam's hand, useless fighting.

“You got that dick in your mouth too, like you like,” Sam went on, and fuck, Cas was seconds from losing it too, with the way he was talking. Made up for all the quiet. “Yeah, see,” Sam grimaced, grinned faintly and used his mouth to nudge Cas's dick back into Dean's mouth, to urge him on it again. “I feel it, Dean. Feel how much you like it. Gettin' so tight, huh? Wanna just let go?”

Sam was stunning; Cas was sure people like ten towns over were feeling this. Still so much tension strung through the room, but Dean thawing, whining and fucking dying and Sam fucked him so thorough, still kinda slow but Cas knew how that felt, Sam all control, in charge of everything.

“C'mon,” Sam kept urging and Cas wanted to join in but he was lost in observation. “That's it, Dean, c'mon, come for me.”

He fucking _did_.

Dean seized up tight, lips even clamping around Cas's dick for a second, until his head tipped back, neck strained, almost fucking crying or whatever that goddamned beautiful scary startling frightened animal noise was. Cas couldn't see between them but there was no mistaking Dean coming.

So wow, so Sam was magic.

Cas knew this.

It still stunned him to watch.

Like, Dean fell _apart_.

Cas couldn't stop smacking at him with his dick all through it, kind of rude but he had to. No chance explaining that one past _pretty._

Sam had the same sort of reaction beside him, on top of Dean, radiating heat and _pounding_ , like headboard rattling against the wall, like Cas afraid it would break right through and even more afraid that he didn't even give a shit.

Even so, he'd been on the receiving end of a much more unhinged Sam on a few occasions and this whole holding back thing was....distracting. Puzzling and a bit overwhelming but later, _later_.

For now, he concentrated on Dean gone boneless under them, apparently, sagging heavy into the mattress, so pliant, downright melted where he lay. Sam got up in his face again, hot breaths against Cas's dick in this lovely two-mouthed sauna; Dean still managed his tongue out, nothing more than dutifully at this point. Everything felt erratic then, disjointed and choppy but so fucking _nice_ , Cas wanted to melt too.

Cas grabbed for Sam's hair again like always, needed to. Everyone moved together in machine precision for a minute, maybe half that. Nothing lasted. Sam sounded gutshot and the headboard slammed, cracked a dent in the wall. Then that familiar cadence; he never stopped fucking even when he was shooting and Cas swore he could feel it just watching, the hotstickydirtiness of it.

_Envious. Not jealous._

So much quiet besides Sam's heavy breathing, little animal grunts, it was fucking nuts, so so wrong. It sounded so goddamned loud when Cas yelped, when Sam tackled him and shoved him back, out of Dean almost as soon as he'd finished. Sam had Cas's dick in his mouth in a second. Far-away pain bloomed in his shoulder and he might have protested if it he wasn't so off-guard, so overwhelmed.

And if Sam's mouth wasn't always so perfect on his dick, especially when he was this close.

Cas figured it'd be fast, breakneck swallowing and he strapped in for it, both hands in Sam's hair, moaning loud until...until it kept going. Sam slowed, breath going even through his nose, his huge hands clutching Cas's thighs,

On and on until Cas slumped against the headboard, relaxed into it. Remembered Dean and found him sprawled and fucked out and _god_ , that looked gorgeous. Sweat-sticky, jizz pooled on his stomach, dick barely waning heavy against his thigh, one hand ruffling at his hair and then he looked at Cas and huffed out a quick breath, muttered something.

“Come watch,” Cas said, nodded him over. Afraid it might not work for a second, but Dean was good.

Dean hauled himself up, sagged fully against Cas, with his head on his shoulder. He'd watch. That was good.

“Isn't he beautiful?” Cas asked, head tilting to Dean just to see, and satisfied that he fixed on Sam, Cas looked back down. “He's amazing,” Cas sighed, meant it more than anything he'd ever meant, and he wanted to say more, to never stop because of the way Sam looked at him, light in his eyes, beautiful _beautiful_. And Dean so mystified and Cas wanted to ask him if he _liked it_. Any of it, all of it.

_Didn't he owe them an answer already?_

No, no one owed anyone anything. Not ever.

Sam was a show off too and didn't they all go together so well for that? Sam was noisier sucking Cas's dick than he'd been fucking Dean and that was fucked up and worth exploring some other time. When he wasn't luxuriating in Sam's perfect mouth.

“Like doing that, Sammy?” Dean asked, surprised them both, quiet and rough at the same time.

Sam exhaled sharp, moaned in answer and really ramped it up, bobbed quick enough to make Cas's hips jerk against his face.

So, game on.

The tone shift jarred Cas in that way that both Winchesters managed to do to him like, all the time. Maybe he'd get used to it one day, but not now. No time.

“Should really make him come, Sam,” Dean said, and _god how could he it was so fucking hot_ , “I mean, immediately. So sweet to us, ain't he?”

Sam agreed, clearly, from the moan that spilled out and the way he sped up operations. He could go so fucking fast, speed blurred up and down and it felt like the most incredible undefinable thing, like Cas was getting his dick fucking stripped, like his soul was just leaving his entire body. He wanted to hump up against Sam's face but Sam held him down. He couldn't even thrust when he came, just hung on to Sam's hair and shot down into the tight warmth of his throat, watched him swallow and swallow and stare up puppy-sweet.

Cas went oversensitive immediately and Sam stopped moving, knew like he always did to just _stay_ , stay while Cas twitched out the last drops and even after. Dean swore quietly beside Cas, in his ear, learned more heavily after that, and they both watched Sam nuzzle at Cas's spent dick, at his stomach, rest against his thigh and wrap his arms around Cas, which meant one wound around Dean too, given the positions.

Could've stayed forever like that.

Warm bordering on overheated and gentle breaths syncing up again, quiet little sighs. Sam clutching at then with the slightest tremble for a bit and then it was gone, and he looked up with the sweetest smile, face blotched red, sweat glittering around the edges of his hair.

_What now?_ Cas had no idea. Fuck, he was tapped out of any ideas, good or bad.

“So...I'm a mess,” Dean drawled lazily against him, still chin-jabbing into his shoulder.

Cas grunted and stretched for the tissues. Easily. “We can, uh, lay down. Or something.”

Sam hummed happily at the suggestion, rolling off Cas's legs and jamming into him, gently shoving at his shoulder until Cas did actually lay down, stretching out quickly because, apparently, he had to now.

“Impatient,” he muttered, ruffled Sam's hair as he nuzzled into him again, over and over.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, didn't care if he was a mess at all, threw one leg over Cas's, stretched out long against him. “Love you,” he whispered just barely, barely anything, against Cas's ear and that made him feel so fucking good, made his heart go all cartoon big and thumping in his chest.

“You too,” Cas mumbled back, quick as he could, kissed Sam's forehead and settled. Tried not to think about Dean, Dean looking for an exit or whatever the hell Dean was going to do now.

“Gross,” Dean muttered, tossed the tissues away and cured right up in the empty spot on Cas's other side. No problem. No convincing. He even slung Cas's arm around his shoulder so he could tuck in better and what the fuck was _that_.

Quiet again, blanketing them, everything snow-mute but comfortable this time. Or at least not so dire. Not piano-wire taut.

Cas watched their hands stretch out over his chest and find each other, felt them wriggle together and close and stay. They stayed.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is late and I am sorry!

Just dawn, just barely watery fall light creeping at the edges of the window when Cas woke up. One of those slow groggy wake ups, like half a hangover. First time waking up in _this_ room so that helped him remember. So did the bed shifting, warmth moving. Left side and that was Dean and it was kind of a miracle he'd stayed _that_ long at all.

Cas waited, kept his breath even and calm. Waiting for Dean to leave.

He did.

Cas followed quietly, grabbed something from the bundle of clothes on the floor, obviously Sam's boxers since they were too too big, and he had to fold the waistband over twice. Half a minute behind Dean and both of them so silent, so Dean didn't even notice.

Even _this_ was too much sneaking around for Cas; he swallowed nervous, heart hammering when he got to the bottom. Dean saw him in a second, squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head just a little, dropped his hand from the latch of the door. His boots were in the other.

“You know you don't have to go,” Cas whispered, nearly hissed and crept over.

“C'mon, I'm not _going-_ going,” Dean rasped, mouth fixed in a frown but his eyes twinkled just a bit. He nudged past Cas to sit on the steps, put his boots on there.

“You're sneaking out though,” Ca said, leaned against the railing to watch, arms crossed over his bare chest. Squinting because fuck it was early and fuck, he didn't want Dean to be doing this to either of them, but especially Sam.

“You were asleep, man. Am I supposed to wake you up first? Y'wanna talk it out? I got work, alright? Just chill out.” Cas watched him tie up his boots, quick fingers nimble making the bow tightening everything up. “I'll be back anyway. I'm okay, I swear.”

That was a lot of different excuses but it really was too early. For anyone's shit, his own or Dean's. So, “You'll be back?”

“Yeah,” Dean shrugged, stood up with a slight groan, arching his back in a stiff stretch. He sighed out of his nose, shoulders sagging to something like relaxation, looking amused at Cas. “Like, this afternoon? Unless you got work.”

Cas shook his head. He wanted to be skeptical but it was too goddamned early for that too.

Then Dean got all close, outstretched his arm onto Cas's shoulder and followed it up with the rest of him. Dean smiled so his eyes crinkled and then kissed Cas soft and easy. “I'm not running, okay?I just gotta go.”

Somehow that made sense to Cas. Probably because of the kiss, the bright green eyes in the brightening foyer. Cas nodded, leaned back against the railing and Dean winked at him and left. Cas wathced through the curtains, watched Dean speed out of his driveway with the windows wide open and his arm lifted up in a wave.

God damn mother fucking Dean.

The street was deserted after that, too early on a weekend for anyone to be moving around. Cas stood and listened, waited to hear Sam moving around upstairs but there wasn't anything yet. He went back up, barefoot silent, and tucked right back into bed around Sam. Big spoon around that massive body, but it worked. Sam relaxed back into it, Cas felt it.

“Dean left?” Sam asked, sleepy-rough.

“We talked first,” Cas started, made his voice soft for this. “He said he'd be back, he wasn't sneaking out, he had work and - “

“Which is it?” Sam laughed gently under him. “Sounds like you got the ol' Winchester brush off.”

“He _did_ kiss me,” Cas thought out loud. Well. It wasn't the first time he'd been duped by Dean but maybe it'd be the last. Wouldn't that be nice.

“You believe him? When he said he'd be back?”

Did he? Yeah, in that second, he had. With Dean kissing him and light just starting to pour in and those pretty pretty eyes. But they all knew where he was so...it wasn't like he could _actually_ run and hide.

“Yeah,” Cas sighed, nuzzled his chin between Sam's neck and his shoulder, squeezed harder around him. “Is it too early to ask if you're okay?”

“I'm okay,” Sam muttered. “But yeah, it's way too early to ask. Make me some coffee, then we'll talk.” Sam craned back, face crinkled in a smile, just a few seconds of reassurance that Cas ate up whole.

But they were up now; Sam's breathing stayed alert. Cas couldn't doze back off again.

“Goddammit,” Sam mumbled first, sighed and rolled onto his back, quickly arranging Cas against him too, “Talk, c'mon.”

“We don't have to. We can talk about -”

“Just go.”

Cas wasn't sure he wanted to if it was like that. But if not then, if he waited until they were over coffee and pancakes, might not get a real answer.

“You held back a lot,” Cas eventually said, quiet, tilting his head up to Sam. Heartbeat steady under his chest and Sam smiled at him, hand in his hair, face lovely and untroubled somehow.

“Didn't wanna scare him off. I mean, I probably _did_ but...I dunno. Was that bad?”

“No. I don't think so.”

Was it? How could you even tell anymore? Cas couldn't, Cas was kind of beyond all of it in this strange headspace. He hoped it'd clear with coffee. But he doubted it.

“I need a vacation. Or...no. No, a sabbatical.”

“What's the difference?”

“Vacation implies relaxation. Sabbatical sounds like...a professional hiatus wherein I can better myself. I feel like I've made so many mistakes. Or maybe not mistakes. Missteps?”

“You and those semantics.”

“Intolerable, right?”

“You're okay.” Quiet for a breath, for two. “So we fucked you up, huh?”

“You didn't _help_ ,” Cas admitted, half a joke and Sam laughed and that was good, low and happy. “This is a terrible talk so far.”

“Right? Just go back to sleep, don't stay up on my account.”

“Can't. I tried.”

“Well...what's for breakfast?”

Cas laughed, grinned lazy. “What d'you want? Pancakes?”

“Mhmm. Banana. Bacon. Coffee.”

“Obviously,” Cas muttered, shut his eyes and snuggled further in, nowhere to go but he wanted to sink into Sam for a moment, enjoy this time together in the morning, time they might never really have in the same way again. “You know, Dean's very different with you. It was actually a little jarring.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. There was still some general stubbornness, showing off, but...there is something very distinct about Dean with you.”

“That good?”

“I think so.”

“Did you like watching it?”

Cas snorted, pressing his mouth back against Sam's neck. “Yes, of course. I felt honored. How did you feel?”

“Good,” Sam sighed out, the word really saying nothing while the slow sink of his chest said more. “Sorry, that's a shitty way to answer you. Good, okay, all that, that's shitty. I don't even know how to say it properly.”

“Later, you'll have the words. After coffee.”

“Hope so. I'm glad you were there, though. _So_ glad, you don't even know.”

“I mean, I _kind_ _of_ know.”

“Can I apologize for breaking in again?”

“Yes. Absolutely. Until you feel better about it. I'll just keep accepting it.”

“You aren't pissed about that?”

Cas wanted to say _no_ right away, like his mouth was already prepped to spit it out and totally end the discussion about it right then and there. It _was_ worth getting pissed about. If he were that kind of person. And if this wasn't Sam fucking Winchester petting him and just being his generally sweet self.

“Well,” Cas started, slow, “It was not a great move on your part. Very unlike you. But the situation was...sort of dire. I can understand why you did it. And the end result might excuse your momentary lapse.”

“I don't think it should.”

“Then it doesn't. But you're sorry, so that counts.”

“It's only kind of unlike me,” Sam said thoughtfully, and Cas looked up, saw his adorable squinted thinking face. “I do like, professionally pry into other people's shit. And you've already forgiven me for that once or twice. Breaking in is definitely more unseemly than just looking at your notebook or your internet history or something.”

“My internet history.”

“Little bit. It's basically the same as mine, porn and recipes.”

“Sneaky,” Cas murmured. He should be angrier, again and he wasn't and he didn't really care and maybe that's what love was like? Maybe this was what it was like exactly. He hoped so; he couldn't stop smiling.

 

* * *

 

A lazy Saturday stretched out so nice for Sam and Cas, the hours falling away until the night came down. Cas wondered if some cracks might start to show in Sam as the day wore on but there was nothing. He really was okay, bright-eyed and shining the whole time.

Even when, as they were trying to pick dinner, in or out or takeout or was it too cold to grill, Sam's phone rattled on the table and the screen lit up and from that delicate crease between his eyes, Cas knew it was Dean. He watched Sam thumb it unlocked, hoped-prayed it was a normal message and not some kind of shitty Dean-shit that would set them all back by a century.

It seemed ages before Sam talked out loud, his eyes still fixed on the phone. “So...Dean wants to come over. He wants to know what we want on our pizzas?” Sam looked slow up at Cas, a little unsure, yes, but excited too.

Cas smiled and it wasn't like he'd been walking eggshells all day waiting to see what Dean would do, not really, but it was always there in the back of his mind. How much would Dean disappoint them? How much more could he? Shitty to think like that, to expect the worst like that, so when it was just _pizza_ , god that was a relief.

“You feel like pizza?” he asked Sam, with a little eyebrow raise, a tiny expectant look that he saw Sam deciphering right away.

“Yeah. I could go for some pizza,” Sam smiled slow, finally nodding.

Dean didn't knock, an hour later, just sailed in the front door with two boxes of pizza, something greasy on top and two six packs, one wedged between his arm and his body and the other held tight.

“How did you open the door?” Sam burst out, asked him so amused and baby brother cute while he grabbed the beer.

Dean rolled his eyes, gave Cas a _look,_ something conspiratorial in a very pleasant way. “Got elbows, don't I? So one extra cheese pepperoni and one, ugh, spinach, bacon, _goat cheese_ , you guys are weird. You know the look they gave me in the place when I put the order in? It was like, oh shit bro, sorry for whatever party you're going to, sorry you got a fussy wife hell-bent on ruining fucking pizza for everyone.”

“It's good,” Sam yelled from the fridge, bottles rattling.

Cas got plates and kept his pizza opinions to himself, somewhat because watching this smooth brotherly bickering was a _treat_. Had they always been like this, or was this something new? Something just for him? It seemed new, from the glow in Sam's face, the nervous edge to Dean. Cas loved it, loved being caught up in it so so much, it had to be dangerous. Didn't it?

They had the first round in the kitchen and then, two beers deep, moved to the living room. No quiet moments, no awkwardness; they were seamless and talkative, joking and just so beautiful. Not a room could ever be big enough to contain all of that.

Cas had the couch, Dean beside him and Sam liked the floor, his back between Cas's legs, everything stretched out under the coffee table so he looked twice as big, like he took up the entire room.

This wasn't how Cas expected any of this to go, or else he'd have suggested all of this like, three weeks sooner, like immediately. He kept waiting for some other shoe to drop.

Didn't, exactly, but everything lulled for a while. Cas had his hand in Sam's hair, had his head all tipped back lazy and Dean watched them and it wasn't weird, somehow, wasn't intrusive.

“Wanna ask you guys something,” Dean started, slow like it'd been brewing for a while.

“Go,” Sam said, tilted up to look at his brother and jesus god Cas hoped it wasn't terrible, hoped Dean had some good sense not to sully whatever this was.

“I kinda wanna watch you guys. Like, together.”

_That wasn't bad at all._ Cas felt a strange little twinge of desire for it.

“Just watch?” Cas asked, squinting curiously.

“Yeah, I dunno. It was...like yesterday, it was interesting.”

“Interesting?” Sam snorted, “Are you gonna take notes?”

“No, shut up. Just seeing you together. It was different than like, porn, or your standard threesome. Cause, y'know. Feelings.”

Cas had to laugh, just quiet, not so much to offend Dean. “It's sweet,” he told him, “But you just want to watch? You don't have to.”

“He likes watching,” Sam reminded him, tipped his head back so he was looking upside down at Cas, mischievous sort of look dancing in his eyes. “I'm down.”

“Doesn't have to be right this second,” Dean rushed out, alert and moving all of a sudden, collecting up plates and empty beer, “I mean...just whenever. I'm gonna get more beer anyhow, so...you guys just talk or whatever.” He lingered in the doorway for a half-second, gesturing awkwardly and then, they were alone.

“Do you want to?” Cas asked, bending down, brushing at Sam's forehead with his lips.

Sam nodded, no thinking at all, stretching his arms up behind Cas's head, pulling him lower and lower until they kissed. “I do. He's only gonna watch for about five minutes anyway, right?”

“Hopefully.”

“He seems okay, right?”

Cas nodded, just as Dean wept in with more beer, as promised. “I fuckin' am okay,” he chuckled at them, dropping heavily down beside Cas again. “Seriously. Don't even worry. I'm into it, whatever this is.”

What indeed.

Two six packs boiled down to four beers each, which Cas saw was nothing to the Winchesters. Probably just breakfast, probably got them just about even with the world, but Cas felt himself flushing easily from it; maybe one day he'd catch up. Or they'd stop. Or...well, something else, but they'd already experienced enough miracles, so Cas wasn't going to push on that front.

Cas was still sipping at number four when Sam twisted around, resting his forearms on Cas's thighs but looking pointedly at his brother.

“So...any requests? You liked watching me blow Cas, didn't you?”

Dean's eyebrows shot up, tense for a second, and then he relaxed into a smirk and a looser posture, so easily. “Yeah, you knew what you were doing. And it felt like...like something was there. With you two. Never really seen that.”

“That's sweet,” Sam said, thoughtful, peering up at Cas, switching back to Dean, and Cas didn't know where to look. “You liked more than just that though, right? Never really said.”

“Do I have to? You were there. Pretty obvious.”

Sam rolled his eyes. He didn't push, so Cas wouldn't either.

Not like he had time to anyway; easy to forget when they were like this how strong Sam was, like maybe bordering on superhuman sometimes, or so it seemed. He just sort of twisted on the floor and grabbed at Cas and hauled him down in a smooth controlled slide, levered him into his lap like he weighed nothing. Cas swore he was already hard when he landed, when Sam grabbed his shirt in two hands and pulled him close and kissed him, rushed and wanting.

Cas wanted too, in this particular, peculiar way he'd never exactly experienced before, like he was proud to do this, to show off with Sam. Because that's what this was, all the pulling and pushing, the growlsome kisses and near-bruising hands all over each other.

Sam pulled away breathless, staring past Cas at his brother; Cas couldn't see Dean but he knew what it'd look like, what the situation going on behind his back was.

“Liking this, Dean?” Sam sounded just vaguely menacing, enough to run a shiver down Cas's spine that pretty much went straight to his dick. “Or was there something els you wanted? Getting hard?”

Cas had to look over his shoulder for that, just in time to catch Dean nodding, throat bobbing in a thick swallow, maybe a gulp. Cas never wanted to stop looking at that, such an expression on Dean's face deserved to be seen by everyone. “Move,” Cas nudged at Sam, heads nuzzling together, “I want to see, if you're going to boss him around.”

Sam needed no more encouragement, shuffled them back and angled weird towards Dean, half smashed into the coffee table but it worked, it definitely worked. Cas tested it, bit at Sam's bottom lip just to hear what Dean, with the full view, would do, and the payoff was the most lovely shudder of breath.

“You should take your dick out, Dean” Cas said, and why the fuck not and they both fucking loved it. Dean scrambled to obey while Sam bumped his forehead hard against Cas's and scratched his way under Cas's t-shirt.

“You wanna tell him what to do? Hot as fuck, Cas, we gotta do it.”

No one _asked_ Dean, but his dick was out and in his fist, his eyes darting between both of them. Like he was waiting, all sweet and expectant already. No further instructions though; Sam was on Cas again, stripping his shirt off, groping at the bulge in is jeans so hard, Cas felt fucking sparks, felt himself leak against his favourite soft sweatpants, the ones Sam had ruined more than once by now. Maybe that was why he liked them so much now.

And they were pretty easy to get off, or at least to impatiently tug down loose around his thighs. His dick didn't even have a chance to hit his stomach before Sam's hand squeezed around it, wringing him up and down already, so fast and tight that Cas made the most embarrassing groan. His body shuddered up against Sam's.

Wow, they were going fast again. That was okay, that was just how it worked. Kind of how it always worked with just Sam and Cas, so it stood to reason that it'd rev up even faster when Dean got involved. Cas had no idea if that made sense, no idea why part of him still tried to rationalize this. Habit, maybe. Definitely.

Stupid.

_Stupid_ because he needed to think with his dick. Everyone else was.

Sam stared at Dean and Dean stared back and everything was electric, still. Maybe forever like that between them, and Cas fucking felt it, all caught in the middle, maybe the best place to be.

“Did you decide what you want to see, Dean?” Cas asked, couldn't stop himself saying it or clean up the tone, but Dean's hips twitched, his dick up into his hand anyway so it was forgiven.

Dean didn't say, though, just stared with his tongue poking at his lips, stared between both of them and Sam's even tempoed hand on Cas's cock.

“Maybe you need a list,” Sam suggested, only half-joking; he looked at Cas with a shrug next and yeah, that'd do.

“He can fuck me for you, if you want to see that,” Cas rattled off, kind of hoped that was the frontrunner; that was basically his plan for the night anyway. “We can go simple too, just jerk each other off. Maybe you want to see me come down his throat again?”

Still no answer, but Dean panted, jerked off faster and Sam watched the speed.

“None of those?” Sam started; Cas watched him fix on Dean's hand and he zeroed in too; Dean sped up even more. “Sure you don't want to get in on this?”

“He does,” Cas assured Sam, felt like he had to so he did it quietly, nudging at Sam's face until he turned back to him. “He does, you can see it. Let him watch. It's pretty hot.”

Sam searched Cas's face a long, slightly unnerving while. Then nodded. Cas sighed, relieved, okay, continue.

Dean did the same thing; relieved sigh, head tilting up to the ceiling before he levelled his gaze back at Sam. “Can you fuck Cas? That's what I wanna see.”

That staring, endless between them, culminating in Sam's hands grasping hard onto Cas's ass and dragging him even closer. It was some _serious_ manhandling; Cas went red like, everywhere, shoved into Sam's shoulder and hid there while Sam spread him right open and he knew Dean saw. _Everything_.

At this point, they kind of had lube stashed everywhere, so all Sam had to do was shove his hand into the couch-cushions and pull out a bottle, and it was crude as fuck.

“Jesus, you two,” Dean muttered under his breath, “Anywhere you haven't fucked?”

“Outside,” Sam said, peering at Cas, tallying up the places they had yet to sully. “The office.”

“There's more, there has to be,” Cas said but he wasn't sure; that kind of sounded right. Shit, it really did.

And then there were no more protests possible; Sam wasn't going slow by any means, lubed up while they were talking, nudged a finger into Cas. Collective gasp, everyone together, and Cas buried into Sam's warm skin again, spread his mouth out around hard muscle and filled his mouth up with it while Sam worked him open.

The Dean-sounds, just barely behind Cas were all the louder because he couldn't see, all panting, skin on skin fast-fast dick jerking, then he'd sow down, speed up, sort of in time with Sam's fingers, enough to mesh everything together into some porno fantasy Cas didn't even know he had.

“Hey, slow it down,” Cas heard Sam, felt him too, a quiet rumble against his chest. “You wanna get in on this _eventually_ , right? Don't blow it yet, Dean.”

Shit, that was hot; instructions, bordering on demands and the withering sigh meant Dean thought so too.

Cas had never been with anyone as fast as the Winchesters. Sam had him bouncing comfortable-uncomfortable in three fingers in no time, and he felt Dean's eyes locked onto the show. He'd gotten Sam's dick out at some point, brand-hot between them while Cas jerked up against it, jerked them off together.

There was just a lot going on, a dizzying array of debauchery.

“He looks ready,” Dean said, sounded closer than before. Cas couldn't twist to look, not from how Sam had him smashed against him.

“Yeah? Want me to fuck him now? Edge of your seat there.”

“Admiring the view.”

“It'll look better in a second here. Sit back, chill out, Dean. _Watch_.”

Cas should've known, that low, commanding _watch_ was warning enough that it was coming, but he still squeaked; Sam had him half-lifted because yeah, he could do that with one hand. Cas pulled himself up the rest of the way on Sam's big shoulders and like, five seconds later, he groaned at that always-ridiculous stretch that no matter how much he'd prepped still felt like some kind of impossibility at first.

But if Cas knew anything by now, it was that yes, he could take that dick. It was just a slow rock down while Sam shoved up until he was all the way. Cas held on tight, mashed close against Sam's chest, breathing humid against his skin. It was always so so good like this, the beginning part of riding Sam, before it got to be too much for both of them. Slow and deep and low-quiet and Cas was so wrapped up, be forgot Dean was there until he heard the quick breathing. That view must have been nice; Cas finally turned his head and looked and Dean was all bitten-lips and red-red dick, one fast hand and the other dug into the couch.

“Remember what it felt like?” Cas dared over his shoulder, watched Dean's brow crease. But he nodded, quick. “Big, right? Really good, every fucking time. You want it again?”

Dean poked his tongue out at the corner of his lips, sort of shrugged. Didn't answer that but, “Kinda into you getting fucked right now,” Dean said instead, fucking hot enough to get Cas off the thread he was trying to unravel.

_Well, if he likes that..._

Cas leaned back, stretched an arm to the floor for support, planted his heels on the floor and Sam missed nothing, big hands gripping his waist tight, raising up to pound him even better. The acrobatics were worth it, worth the mind-bendingly good slamming Sam gave him in this new position. Worth Dean swearing softly on the couch just above him.

“So good when he pounds you, isn't it?” Cas panted, disastrously hell-bent on getting some kind of admission, especially since Sam looked at Dean too, looked like he really wanted to hear it.

“Fuck, yeah, fucking loved it,” Dean hissed, clenched teeth, hips jerking up into his hand and then he stilled, squeezed, looked so fucking ready to pop just from watching them.

God, that was a self-esteem boost if nothing else.

“Suck his dick,” Sam panted, still thrusting, thumping into Cas at this heavenly angle that he didn't want to ever end.

But yeah, he kind of wanted to get Dean's dick in his mouth too.

Not that there was much choice; Sam slid slow out of him, used the grip on his hips to get him on his knees and Cas went ragdoll easy, usually did with Sam.

Maybe it was kind of a reward, maybe Dean earned it for being even the tiniest bit forthcoming. Cas draped over Dean's thighs and let Sam figure out the rest while he licked at Dean's dick, up and down and back again, a slow wide drag that drove Dean crazy. Sam rearranged him at the same time, tilted his ass up, teased at his stretched hole with the head of his dick until Cas swerved his head around, lips pre-come tacky, face flushed.

“Fuck me, c'mon.”

“Get his dick down your throat first,” Sam nearly cooed, tangling a hand in Cas's hair, shoving his head back towards Dean and down. Dean's hand joined his brother's, Cas felt the fingers slipping together, both shoving hi down and god help him, there was nothing else he wanted to do in the world besides this.

Sam rammed back into him and Cas's sharp moan vibrated against Dean's shaft and everything turned into the most delicious blur.

Eventually, Cas didn't need to move at all; Sam and Dean held him in place, fucked him from both ends. It was goddamned _crazy_ , so fast, so thorough, so fucking good. He wanted to watch them though and he couldn't, couldn't even lift his head from Dean's lap long enough but he was sure they were watching each other, fingers tangled together in his hair, egging each other on in that quiet intense hot way they did, that he was just learning about and finally experiencing for himself.

“He's doing good, huh, Dean?” Sam growled over him, “No one sucks better dick, you're gonna blow in his mouth and it's gonna be fucking amazing.”

Cas hadn't expected that so soon though; like the instant Sam said it, Dean's hand went crazy-tight in his hair, hips bumping up in a hard thrust and Dean blew half-way down his throat with some growling low animal noise and Cas didn't choke, he was good like that, automatically swallowing and swallowing until there was nothing left, until Dean twitched dry in his mouth.

“Fuck, are you kidding?” Sam said behind Cas, kind of breathy, like he wanted to laugh but there were other more important things going on. “D'you just do it on command? Like a fucking _dog_?”

Yeah, Sam was losing it too, picking up speed and pounding into Cas. Cas still had Dean's dick in his mouth, barely softening but god, he needed something in there or Sam was too much, entirely overwhelming. He didn't want it to stop but Sam's hand on his hip fucking bruised and the whole room shook with a big shudder of Sam's body and just from that? Just from Dean blowing fast? Sam was too, holding this intense thrust, trying to shove in deeper while he unloaded and Cas finally had to come up for air, sobbing out a breath against Dean's thigh.

“Shit, did he – is he?” Even Dean couldn't get it out and Cas just nodded.

Sometimes, sometimes he thought Sam might never finish, like he had some inexhaustible reserve of come gushing up inside of Cas. Sam stayed buried, always did, for a while, groaning quietly and draping over Cas's back. Then Dean had a hand on each of them, one stretching out into Sam's hair and the other tilting up Cas's head so his mouth gaped open, so he looked like a fucking mess, he was sure.

“Take it so good, Cas,” Dean panted at him, eyebrows drawn, curious. Fuck, he was gorgeous, eyes blown out black, beads of sweat trickling from his forehead, mouth bitten bright pink.

“Want a turn?” Sam huffed, slowly righting himself, even more slowly pulling his dick out. He slapped Cas's ass, sharp enough to surprise him. “Go on, Cas. Kept him hard so you might as well.”

_Goddamn_.

Cas was hard enough right now that he'd do anything Sam said, mild suggestion or not. He clambered up into Dean's lap so fast it surprised them both, still felt insanely stretched open, sticky and wet inside, right where Dean prodded him open with his fingers. The couch dipped and Sam heaved himself down beside them, groaning happily, tucking himself beside Dean.

“Just get in there, he's all ready. No sense in teasing”

“Heh, I dunno,” Dean huffed, “Kinda fun.”

Cas wanted to smack him, would have if he wasn't so desperate to get off; he hadn't even touched himself for like... _jesus_ , how long? He couldn't remember but he was a _mess,_ smashed against Dean's torso, raising to angle onto his dick somehow; Sam helped, reaching between them, underneath them, _whatever_ it was, however directions worked, and then Dean's dick split him back open.

Hands everywhere and _god,_ so thick and Cas whined, embarrassing, looped one arm around Dean's shoulders – _huge_ , big and thick like he hadn't expected and hadn't Sam said _wide_ , _thick_ , something? So long ago now. Way back when he'd first met Sam, when he'd never imagined he'd be in this kind of situation.

God. Was he ever in a _situation_.

Sam draped over both of them, hands everywhere, mouth just as busy. When he wasn't bruising their skin, he was talking like regular old sexytime Sam talk, the kind Cas missed the night before. Where that was a little stifled, _this_ was overflowing. “Feel me in there, Dean?” just for starters, and the encouraging, “Bet his ass still feels crazy tight on your big dick,” which had Dean panting like a dog, thrusting up into Cas while he rocked down, and something Cas would remember later, “Gonna come when I tell you too again?”

Because _fuck_ that was the hottest thing; Cas wanted it to happen again, wanted to watch Dean blow on fucking command but round two went longer. Cas didn't know how much longer, because dick-riding time wasn't really the same as seconds or minutes. He came with Sam's teeth sunk into his shoulder and his enormous hand squeezing Cas's dick, not even stroking, just goddamned squeezing it vice-tight.

Sam said something, _of course he did_ , under everything buzzing and crackling hot and Cas had his forehead mashed against Dean's and Dean grimaced, hissed, spat out, “Yeah, _yeah.”_

Cas heard it then, Sam's low, lovely, “C'mon, fill him up, look how pretty he came for you, squeezing so good, yeah? I know what it feels like, know you wanna leave your load up in there too, right on mine. Do it, fucking do it.”

There was no way that was gonna work again, impossible, but Sam's hand squirmed between them, lower until Dean jumped so, yeah, unsurprisingly Cas looked down to find Sam grabbing at Dean's balls while he fucked him. Dean pulled Cas down, didn't let him move so he could spill deep as possible, just as deep as Sam had.

So Dean came, again, and Sam had nothing to say about it, just kissed him, dragged Cas into it so he felt the whole thing inside and out, Dean shaking sensitive against him but throbbing and huge inside, Sam pawing and proud. Like Cas lived between them now and that was fine; Sam's reach engulfed them both and it stayed that way.

 

* * *

 

Cas woke up in much the same way as he'd gone to sleep, all curled up around Sam. That Dean, who'd spooned behind him at some point, was missing, wasn't a terrible shock. And Sam's big, warm body was certainly enough.

Cas groaned sleepy, nuzzled in enough to smell the leftover sweat on Sam's neck, to rub up against the days and days of dark stubble. So many days and it looked so good, dark and dangerous. Cas inhaled deep, deeper, pressed in so hard that Sam made up his galaxy for long moments while he woke up.

Of course, Sam had been awake the whole time; Cas started at his deep laugh and whined, digging himself out and laying his head on the pillow, next to Sam's.

“Awake long?”

“Nah,” Sam admitted, “Couple minutes more than you. Cute wake up. Could you even breathe in there?”

“Mhmm,” Cas hummed, had half a mind to dive back in, but there were some wonderful Sam-smells here too, around his hairline and in the chocolate shroud of it too, fanned out on the pillowcase. Sweet and sharp and...bacon? _No_ , that wasn't Sam's hair. Cas held his breath for a moment, heard kitchen-noises below them. “I thought Dean left? I mean, I assumed.”

“Hm? He did.”

“Then someone broke in and is fucking up my kitchen.”

“Only I'm allowed to break in. I definitely smell bacon though.”

They raced like kids downstairs, sock-skidding on the wood floors, mirth enough to keep Cas from forgetting about the aches and pains that came from getting fucked all night.

It was the strangest thing, sailing into his kitchen doorway, smashed shoulder to shoulder with Sam, seeing Dean there. If it was fucked up for him, it had to be doubly so for Sam. _Or...not?_ He walked in before Cas, dangerously half-naked in front of the fired up stove, nothing for Dean besides a weak, playful punch to his shoulder.

“You guys sounded like fuckin' elephants,” Dean said. He looked Sunday morning cute, mussed hair, boxers that were porbably not his and a t-shirt that judging from the size was definitely not his. But it draped so nice, Cas hoped he might keep it.

Sam poured them all coffee and Cas just sat at the table, watching them again. They had practice at this already, had years of domesticity minus the sex, and it all fell back together so smooth. So beautiful.

Cas blinked and there were eggs and bacon, a slightly burnt hash. And two very vital Winchesters.

“Y'know, I've been here almost three days in a row?” Sam said, halfway through eating, staring at his plate, then Cas. “That's a record, I think.”

It was. Not that Cas counted, but he observed. Everything. Couldn't help it.

“You're not still moving, right?” Dean asked, eyes on his own plate.

_That_. Cas had forgotten in the flurry of so much _everything_ happening. Then again, he had left the entire thing up to Sam, hadn't even started parcelling out his clients or looking for office space in their vague destination of _west_.

“I don't know,” Sam said, brow creased, shoving a hunk of potato around. “My lease is up this week. I think someone's already moving in, like, Friday.”

“We've got time to figure that out,” Cas pointed out, hopefully helpfully, but he wasn't sure; he wanted to tell Sam to move in here, wanted to beg him on his knees to but he did run a business, when he wasn't engaging in the most filthy weekend activities. And all the things they'd talked about, they'd done under this roof It seemed inappropriate, moreso than everything else. Somehow.

“I got a couch,” Dean shrugged out an offer, darting his eyes up to Cas first, then his brother. Back again. Back to his plate. “I mean, I got a whole nice guest room, not as nice as the one we tore up here, but you can crash. Until you figure everything out.”

Fuck baby steps, apparently; Dean waded waist deep and sunk deeper every minute and Cas couldn't figure out what it was, good, bad, too much, not enough, some latent guilt or just this shiny new lust. Or something else.

“Really?” Sam asked, after just slightly too long. Cas watched them look and not look at each other. Breathtaking and painful all at once.

Cas was so wrapped up, edge of his seat bated breath waiting for Sam's answer.

It wasn't spectacular. Just a little shrug, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, I can crash at your place. For a few days.”

Cas stopped his sigh of relief with coffee, hid his grin in the mug, devoured the shy looks passing between them. Way too early to mark this a success but whatever was happening, it was _outstanding_.

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

Sam didn't have a lot of stuff. Never had. Never had space for it, or else never had money. Of course Dean taught him how to shoplift, how to stow tiny things up his sleeves, how to transfer them to his pockets with no one seeing, and Sam took a sense of delight in triangulating the security cameras, finding every blind spot and filling up his backpack. But only ever food and clothes. Sometimes comics. Always stuff to impress Dean. Nothing that stayed, nothing to haul around. Nothing _worth_ hauling around.

All he'd needed back then were his two allotted bags and his big brother's beautiful smile, the one Sam noticed early on Dean only made for him.

So four boxes packed up and Sam was done. Maybe that's why he left it to the last minute, until the actual zero hour, Thursday night, 11pm. There were cases, okay, maybe that was part of it. Everyone getting their ducks in a row before Christmas. Wives to follow, mostly, two of whom were only stepping out to buy truckloads of toys and bursting bags from those dad gadget stores. He watched a massage chair get crammed in the back of an SUV for thirty minutes that afternoon. That shit was too much.

His other charge was just some poor teenage kid who's mom was fretting his GPA, crying-worried he was _on the drugs_ or something equally affronting. Why else would some sixteen year old not rush home from school every day and greet her with dimpled cheeks? _Yikes_. Sam followed the kid too, from 3 to 9 with his mind utterly elsewhere. The kid smoked, so what. He smoked and went to the gym for two hours.

Yeah, real bad seed.

If this woman even caught one sentence of the shit Dean had been up to at that age, she'd probably faint.

Because after the gym, this kid hit the Mucho Burrito and went straight to the library. Dean woulda hit on the counter girl, plowed her in his car. While Sam watched. No fucking libraries.

And Sam followed him home and prepared the fucking report on his phone just a few feet away from where he was sure there was some unnecessary screaming match going on.

Is _that_ what moms were like? Probably not all of them.

He'd only had Dean.

Dean had offered to help him pack up, of course. Maybe he thought it was a bigger job. Maybe he was just being, y'know, brotherly.

Anyway, by 11:30, Sam's van contained the all meagre pieces of his life. He hadn't even taken one of those tv-show last looks around the apartment. Nothing good there. Not much of anything. Like a blank slate he'd never bothered to leave his scrawl on. He had no idea what to do next.

Well, not _next_ -next but in a few days next. Apartment hunting, he figured. He counted the 'for lease' signs while he drove towards Dean's place, ten in all and that was probably a good sign, to say nothing of a recession.

Houses though. Those were houses. There was but one of him and he didn't know how to do shit around a house. Well. Not in the same way that _Dean_ did, with all his handy hard won skills, from so many construction jobs and other assorted things to keep them afloat. And he liked that shit. So he'd help, right? If Sam got some cheap fixer-upper?

Or was that too...domestic?

Fuck.

Sam had no idea anymore.

No idea what they were now. Brothers, first and always, of course, but all that other stuff, that weekend crammed full of debauchery, followed by a week so busy, neither of them had time to catch their breath.

Or maybe Sam was the only one left without air from this.

On the phone, it seemed fine. They seemed great. Easy conversation, the usual quiet lulls that were only ever comfortable. Phone was one thing. Now Sam parked outside Dean's house, parked on the street because he didn't know. Didn't know Dean's morning routine, didn't know if it'd jive with his own. Didn't want to jam anyone up.

_Didn't want to get excited, don't get excited._

_Late_ enough that only the porch light and Dean's bedroom light were on. Sam sighed a little in relief because, yeah, it was late enough that they wouldn't have to have some kind of discussion, right? That he could just crash on the couch without it being a thing?

God, he hoped.

Hands a little shakey slinging his backpack up over his shoulder, legs slightly rubber up the walkway. Tiny puffs of frost just kissing the dusty green blades of grass of Dean's immaculate lawn and the greenery that surrounded it.

_Cas would love it here._

Sam walked in and it felt like a B&E again, like the van wasn't enough of a creepmobile on it's own. Every neighbour probably had their hands on the emergency speed dial. _Of course they don't, no one cares. No one's watching._

As soon as he shut the door, he heard footsteps; Dean's always sounded like that, soft-socked thuds like he weighed twice as much as he actually did.

“That you, Sammy?” he grumbled down the stairs, stood at the landing so all Sam saw were his feet, the beginnings of sweatpants.

“No, just a really bad cat burglar,” Sam called back, locked the door, heard Dean snort.

“It's late,” Dean said, softer this time, thumping down a few steps and sitting down, scratching at his jaw. “Y'got boxes or anything?”

“Uh, like, four. Nothing important.”

“Four boxes?”

“Yeah?” Sam shrugged, toed off his tie-less boots. “You know me.”

“Fair enough.” Dean looked at him long, too long, searching his eyes. Waiting for something.

Sam had no idea what.

“I'm just gonna shower and hit the hay, don't let me keep you up,” Sam said, after to much of nothing. On the phone, that silence might have been nice but with Dean all dark on the stairs, with this goddamned fucker of a situation, it wasn't great. Felt weird.

After another one, another pause that was more like an earthquake, Dean shrugged and stood up, and filled it with, “Y'know where everything is. Night, kiddo.”

“Night!” Sam called back, felt like it was too loud, too...something. What, though? Awkward? Maybe. Eager? Yeah. He felt fourteen again, reading into everything, wishing and praying and wantingwantingwanting.

There was no invitation upstairs.

But like.

Did he need one? Were they past that? Somehow beyond it now?

_Just don't think about._

Sam showered downstairs, hadn't ever done that at Dean's place. Everything looked custom, not new but like new-old, so it matched perfectly with the house as a whole. Although old houses never had huge bathrooms like this, spacious and bright and relaxing at the same time. Nothing in the medicine cabinet. Was it snooping if he was crashing here?

Yes. Yes it was.

By 1, Sam was slung across the couch with the TV on low, just the dim blue glow and the dull march of some history show.

He texted Cas, just meant it as a good night since that was all it said, hadn't expected him to be up this late, as he was racing through some absurd list of clients on his way to a sabbatical. Vacation. Time the fuck off. He deserved it.

He texted back, _Get to your brother's okay?_

And Sam said, _Of course. Record time packing. Showered now I'm chilling on the couch._

_The couch_?

_Yeah. I don't wanna freak him out._

_Makes sense. It's a good idea to be careful, but not at your own emotional expense_.

And, _dude it's too late for me to even think. I'm fine._

_Call me tomorrow?_

And then hearts, they both used hearts like teenage girls and it was fine, somehow.

Sam clicked the TV off, went to sleep immediately.

Sam was up and out before Dean even woke up.

It definitely felt like sneaking out.

 

* * *

 

Dean sailed home around the usual time, didn't pay much attention to the van parked on the street. Everything seemed normal. He parked, scowled in the near-dark and walked into his even darker house. Thunked his boots off in the hall when, _oh_ , right.

_Sam_.

Sam sprawled on his couch, half covered with a blanket but otherwise naked, a pillow jammed between the crook of his arm and his head. Napping.

Made sense considering Dean hadn't even heard him leave that morning. Early-early.

The only light came in soft from the kitchen, just enough to pick up sun highlights from Sam's hair and to make his tan glow.

So Dean stood in the doorway and stared for a bit because Sam was gorgeous, painfully suddenly gorgeous, and it'd always been that way, just now, Dean noticed it different. Mostly because he could't stop thinking about crying on his brother's big dick.

Mostly.

_Those_ feelings weren't exactly new; he didn't go five minutes most days without thinking about fucking in general, certainly didn't end up in a room with anyone and not take a few seconds of precious time to think about sex with them. Anyone, everyone. Probably was a little fucked up.

But this other stuff that was packaged up along with his usual porno daydreams now? Like, this swelling in his chest, itchy palms? He wanted to tuck Sam in tight on the couch, make sure he was warm and comfy, safe and sound. _That_ wasn't new. That was his entire world for so, so long.

And while he was playing mom as best he could, Sam fell in love. It reframed his whole life. Every good memory, every bad one. There was this whole secret life to Sam he'd never known about, never even fathomed. Dean just didn't think that way.

Now he knew. Now some stuff made more sense, and other stuff was just cringeworthy.

Like now? How he was staring in the dark at Sam sleeping like a fucking pervert? Yeah, he'd had like, twenty years to do that and had he ever like, _really_ really done it?

Goddammit.

Dean crept past, into the kitchen which wasn't even far away, wasn't enclosed or anything but it felt a bit like safety. If he went upstairs, stayed out of the way until Sam woke up, that would just be fucking weird. They'd lived together endlessly before, it shouldn't _be_ weird. What had it been like? Ten years ago, so fucking long, but they'd had routines. Most of Dean's revolved around his brother. Pack a lunch and get Sammy to school. Then whatever Dean filled his days with; work usually, other assorted bullshit. Daytime bar visits, malls. Guys sometimes, in the day, not because he was hiding it, jut because...whatever.

Grown up Dean was not responsible for anything Dean did before he was 25, he maintained a very clear stance on that.

Then he'd come home, eat crap. Cook for Sam once he got home. Laundry, did you do your homework, what do you want to do tonight. The usual. The _usual_.

That wasn't happening.

Dean was already in the kitchen, so, why not. He'd cook. Never some gourmet spread but he knew what Sammy liked. Or used to. _Shit_. Faced with the fridge, he frowned. They always went to fucking bars, and if they didn't, Sam always got the same shit he did, burgers. Maybe an omelette. What did he _like_ besides grilled cheese and bacon? That was his precious little Sammy, that was skinny limbs and doe eyes and two decades ago.

Yeah, this was definitely weird, because Dean was in his kitchen looking up recipes on his fucking phone, recipes for green shit and healthful choices and goddamn _everything_ , this was a lot of effort just to _not_ be weird.

He ended up making bar food anyway, the easy shit he did when he stayed home, the chicken strips you fried on the stovetop and breaded in whatever you had. A bunch of perfectly cut potatoes crisping up in the oven. He even hauled out the old salad bowl and mixed up a bunch of greens, dressed it with oil and lemon and yeah, alright, he was pretty proud.

Felt good doing something. Something ancient, half-forgotten but so familiar. His entire life was _take care of Sammy_ , right down to the wire, right down to extra lunches and a wad of cash at the bus station.

No. Didn't want to go back there.

Dean hunched over the counter, grated cheese hard until he nicked a finger, swore quiet so he didn't wake up Sam, but the soft rustling from the couch said he'd failed. Sam's head came up slow over the back of the couch, sleep-ruffled even as Sam scrubbed his hand through it. He yawned, noisy, no covering his mouth, and blinked over at Dean, at the kitchen.

“Hey, you're...doing a thing.”

“Cooking, yeah,” Dean shrugged, peeled his eyes off his puppy-sleepy baby brother. He smiled though, turning back to his tasks. Sam still woke up cute; some things never changed.

“Smells good.”

“I didn't wake you up, did I? It's like tiptoeing around the Hulk.”

“Yeah, I was beat,” Sam laughed, his voice a little slumber rough. “I'm gonna...”

“Do what you gotta do. Dinner's on the table in ten.”

Dean smiled the while time he set the table. Smiled plating the food. Still smiling when Sam came in dressed in a t-shirt and sweats and sat expectantly down.

“Y'know, besides that breakfast last weekend? This is the first time you've cooked for me in like...”

Dean didn't want to tally up all those years, not really. Kind of wished they could not count somehow. Not that they were bad. Not that anything was bad, but this was better, whatever it was. He mostly watched Sam eat, took secret delight in his faces, in the soft noises of enjoyment he made. Just like he used to.

So Dean found himself staring again, goddammit. Found himself wondering how many times Sam had done this, the staring, the watching. How stupid that he'd never noticed. Chalked it up to Sam being a weird kid or beer or bad lighting or whatever the fuck else. He should have seen it, right? If he had any kind of wits about it.

And then,

“What?” Sam half-laughed, exasperated, clanking his fork down.

Shit.

“What?” Dean echoed, idiotically, blinking wide.

“You're staring.”

“I'm...watching you enjoy my food. I'm like, basking in your enjoyment.”

Sam narrowed his eyes for a moment and Dean felt his heart pound hard and harder, so ready to get called out for shit he couldn't explain, not fully. But Sam shrugged and grabbed his fork again, twirled it between his fingers and dove back in. _Thank_ _fuck_.

A few moments of quiet, just utensil scrapes on semi-expensive plates. And Dean staring and trying not to be so fucking obvious about it this time. He glanced at the couch behind Sam, frowned.

“Hey, none of this sleeping on the couch shit tonight, alright?” Dean started, no clear idea where it was going. Too late now. “I mean, there's a guest bed right next door to my room if you don't wanna take up with me. Makes me feel bad having you down here like some kinda transient.”

Sam didn't look at him, pushed food around on his plate like he usually did before he talked, oldest habit Dean could recall he still had; everything else had fallen away. “I didn't want to presume anything.”

“Dude, no presumptions. We're, like...closer now. Y'know? All that stuff.”

“ _Stuff_. Yeah.”

“Shut up, you know what I mean. I'm just saying. If you wanna, you know where I am. Doesn't have to be a whole thing.”

It didn't, it wasn't. Wouldn't be. Didn't mean they were shacking up. Just a room, just a bed.

“It won't freak you out, right? Or- “

“Jesus, no. You really think I'd get all fucked up over that?”

“Well...”

“I'm asking you. So obviously I'm into it. And alright, yeah, it's a fucked up kinda thing. Like the whole thing is, but what's _more_ fucked up is you sleepin' on the couch when we both know where you really wanna be. Right? Right. So you can look for apartments or whatever you want, but as long as you're staying here, I'm gonna do the polite thing and insist.”

Dean didn't care that he bowled over Sam's feelings because _jesus_ sometimes he had to do that. He didn't like it anymore than Sam did, but Sam cracked a smile anyway, half of one so Dean got a single dimple instead of the set but it was still pretty good.

“Yeah, alright. You're right.”

“I'm what?”

“Right now, you're just a jerk.”

“I'll take it,” Dean grinned, kept grinning under Sam's incredulous gaze. Yeah, he'd said that. No takebacks. Better own it.

Mercifully, Sam didn't say anything; he didn't have to.

 

* * *

 

11:48 by the time Sam wrapped up this absolute buttload of reports. He rubbed at his eyes, felt a few years away from glasses and that was too early. Wasn't it? Whatever, it wasn't pressing, it was just new light from the overhead dimmer in Dean's kitchen, Sam's makeshift office to replace the flat couch in his old place.

Not that this was his new place. This was some ridiculous purgatory.

Stupidly, he still brushed his teeth downstairs, still plugged his phone in by the couch and left his bag downstairs. Never hurt to leave a couple of outs. He checked the locks out of habit, doors and windows. Of course it was all fine, it was Dean; nothing even rattled. The stairs didn't creak on the way up.

Still, for all the home repairs, everything felt bare. Unlived in and a little unloved. But warm light spilled out of Dean's room, some quiet rock music and his brother's low humming mixing together. He didn't know what it looked like in there, took his time getting to the open door, peering around it to see Dean sitting up against a dark grey headboard, the cushioned kind. Reading with – no way, Sam huffed out a little laugh – glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

Sam's noise made Dean look, and he snapped the things off his face so hard, Sam laughed again.

“They're just for reading, shut up,” Dean muttered, went all shifty and clattered the glasses on a little white table beside his bed.

“I was just squinting at my computer thinking it was time to get my eyes checked. It's alright,” Sam edged around the doorway, didn't know where to stand, where to go. He watched Dean put the magazine away, fumble with some remote that made the music stop. Dim the light a bit. Was that a sign?

“I just got 'em from the drug store, I dunno. They work fine.”

“Good.”

Sam strayed by the doorway, looked around but there wasn't much to take in. White dresser, cushy chair in one corner, everything flat and dark and dull, relaxing, he guessed.

And did Dean pull down all that strange in here? Or was that strictly in the car? Sam didn't remember seeing this backdrop in any of the pictures. No, they were just smooth leather and tacky bricks, the worst of the worst. Maybe Dean didn't bring them home.

Sam never did either.

“You're, uh, still the left side?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Sam muttered, shuffled in the rest of the way until his knees hit the bed. “I mean, I kinda switch with Cas, so - “

“Yeah, sounds about right.”

Sam snorted, didn't reply further because he wasn't ready for that, to explain 20 years of waiting and then the somewhat bizarre cherry popping circumstances. He'd hold off explaining that shit forever, if he could.

Sam kneed down onto the bed, rolled onto his side to face away and felt Dean's side dip in kind, getting comfortable as they could. Dean flung the blankets on the both of them, dimmed the light some more until it was dark. And Sam shuffled back, back and back until he felt Dean's warmth pressing against him.

“Uh, what're we doing here?” Dean muttered, so close his breath brushed Sam's neck. So, so close, just another inch or so, just an arm and a leg and it'd be perfect. “You're kinda too big for the little spoon, Sammy.”

“Nah,” Sam mumbled, secretly smiling against the pillow, so glad Dean couldn't see while he wriggled back some more. “Big brother, big spoon. Makes sense. Just, c'mon.”

After a moment, he did. After a moment, Dean's strong arm scooped against his chest and he got close everywhere, the vague warmth of his soft dick in boxers jammed against Sam's ass, his chest against his back. Legs locked together and Sam shuddered out a sigh.

Dean did the same but softer, breath drifting across the back of Sam's neck. “Hey, relax.”

Sam didn't even realize he wasn't relaxed but shit yeah, he was bound up all tight from top to bottom, had to chill. Really couldn't chill. How could anyone?

He grabbed Dean's hand from where it rested too light on his stomach, slid his fingers into the groove's of Dean's and dragged it up to the center of his chest. “Sorry,” Sam muttered, wanted to stop but he kept going with a tight throat, heavy dark weight settling around him, “I used to think about this all the time. Like, constantly. More than any of the other stuff.”

“Wait, like...what do you mean, this? Just cuddling?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, sighed it out witheringly, kind of wished he'd just shut the fuck up and taken it. “Especially when we'd have to share a bed. I'd pray I'd wake up like this, like maybe you'd accidentally do it in your sleep or something.”

So many nights on edge, figuratively with nerves and then _literally_ perched on the very goddamned edge of the bed, all closed in on himself teenage-hot, wanting and not wanting and desperate to keep it all in.

And it was still _there_ , even with Dean wrapped around him, softwarm, gentle, perfect.

It wouldn't go away.

“Coulda said something about it,” Dean told him, breath ruffling his hair.

“Seriously?” Sam twisted his head around then back to the pillow, shifting back into Dean. “No way I could've. Can you imagine?”

It was funny as it was terrifying, nightmarish stuff too raw to joke about and here he was, joking about it. Maybe only because he was jammed up against Dean.

_Finally, finally._

“Yeah,” Dean huffed out a chuckle nearly devoid of amusement, “Yeah, don't think I coulda handled that. Kinda...didn't handle it anyway.”

“Would've been worse back then. Everything woulda stopped, and that was pretty much all I had so...”

_That_ wasn't worth mentioning. None of it was.

_Just shut up, just soak up all that warmth, relax, breathe._

“Hey, sorry,” Dean rumbled low against his skin, his thumb rubbing over Sam's, fingertips barely digging into his t-shirt.

“Don't,” Sam said back, right away, closed his eyes and felt everything collapse in on him, diamond hard and microscopic and blackhole huge at the same time, that vicious tug in his insides that made his head spin off.

“No, I am, cause, I shoulda just opened my fucking eyes and - “

“Don't, c'mon.” The dumb hitch in his voice made everything so much worse, but Dean clutched him tighter and that helped. It did. Sam took a second, didn't bother clearing his throat. “Save it for Cas.”

“God,” Dean breathed out but felt like he melted a bit, relaxed just enough that they both sunk into each other, let it go, “He's prob'ly tingling just sensing I was bein' serious for five seconds. Don't tell him, huh?”

“Our secret.”

“I am, though. Sorry, I mean.”

“You don't have to be. We're good now.”

Sam meant it. Right now, right here, Dean's arm scooped around him and their bodies close, closer than ever, everything close and Dean huffing warmth against his neck and _oh god, they were here._

It stopped when Sam wasn't paying attention to it. Stopped for the banter but once the quiet settled, no matter how comfortable, how perfect, that hard kernel knotted back up again inside him because now, _now_ he wanted to say it so bad.

The big it, the thing, the one thing that never had a response, pinging around his head, desperate to roll off his tongue and ruin the moment.

_Love you I love you I love you I-_

No.

Not yet, probably not ever but definitely not yet.

But the quiet, “Thanks, Dean,” felt imbued enough with it that Sam still got a secret rush saying it, and another from Dean's soft lips just barely against his neck, the still-tighter tug closer that almost hurt, halfway to a rib-cracker and that would be just fine.

And the, “Night, Sammy,” felt fucking loaded too but for once, it was okay. Maybe even just for tonight but just for tonight was enough.

 


	14. Chapter 14

So this was it; Dean's house.

Dean's house without Dean. He'd blown quick after dinner, muttered something about _Friday_ and _blowing off steam_ so now it was just Cas and Sam again.

And a pillow and a neatly folded blanket on the couch. Cas didn't notice until he was hauling in one of Sam's boxes.

“Are you still sleeping down here?” he asked, tried not to make it sound incredulous.

Sam glanced over his shoulder, a pretty, faint blush on his cheeks, joy in his eyes. “Nope.”

“Guest room?” Cas guessed and Sam downright grinned this time, big and full and bright. “Upstairs? With Dean?”

“Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“Okay, completely. But like...no sex.” Sam thumped his box of clothes down beside the bed and sat on it, smoothed the brown sheet with his big hand.

“No sex,” Cas repeated, squinting curiously. “Any reason why not?”

And Sam grinned again and it was fucking delightful, like he was a kid getting a puppy on Christmas. “Um...because of all the cuddling, I guess. Which is really great. Unexpected and great and like, yeah, sex would be great too but without you there, I dunno how well it'd work.”

Cas nodded, put his box down and tugged open the flaps. Sam was happy, s _o_ happy, it burst out of him. “You can, you know. You can do anything you'd like without me being there, you don't need permission.”

“No, I know, but maybe I kind of want it. Not even the permission, but...you. You being there. It's important.”

Clothes in this box too and Cas nudged it towards the other one, smiling. “I appreciate that, Sam.” He bent, started tugging out the carefully folded garments, looking around. “If you're mostly sleeping _with_ Dean, why are we putting your things in the guest room?”

Sam didn't answer right away; he didn't look at Cas and he stayed quiet, toeing at a box, unpacking it for a while. “I think it's the whole not wanting to scare him thing. Again.”

“Understandable,” Cas muttered, trailing a finger down a blue flannel shirt he hadn't seen before, dark with grey and black crisscrossing in there too. He held it up against Sam, pursed his lips in consideration. “You should wear this.”

“Alright,” Sam shrugged, “Put it on the top of the dresser. I'll put it on tomorrow for you. If you're good.”

Cas snorted out a laugh, unexpectedly loved the insinuation. “When am I not?”

No answer, but when he came back towards the bed, Sam grabbed his arm and tugged, slipped him so easily into his lap and held him there and nuzzled into his neck. “You _are_ good. The best. Even after all this crap, you're still - “

“No crap,” Cas chuckled, “Stop that.”

“ _Some_ crap,” Sam argued, but not really; he laughed against Cas's throat.

“Your feelings aren't crap. Dean's either. They're certainly...unique.”

“Is guilt unique? Cause...”

“About?”

“I guess...sleeping with Dean and not you.”

_Of course._

“I wasn't even here,” Cas started slow, treading light, dangerous ground reassuring Sam, “And even if I were, you'd be free to do what you like. Maybe we should have talked about that.”

“Maybe,” Sam muttered into Cas's skin, followed it up with a heated sigh. “So...the internet says we're in a 'polyamorous relationship.'”

Cas didn't say anything; he smiled to himself, considering how like Sam this was. Researching everything. Picking it apart, not speaking up until he knew the entire scope.

“So is the internet right?”

_Was it_? Cas never went in for definitions; they made him itchy and trapped, made everything seem so easy to explain away. He spent so much time explaining feelings to other people, cluing them in on their own motivations that cobbling together something like that in his personal time seemed terrible. Kind of a waste.

He knew he loved Sam.

Sam loved him. Sam loved Dean.

They'd spent that messy weekend together but did that make anything a relationship?

Fuck that, he didn't even care.

But _Sam did_.

“Is that what you'd like to be in?” Cas ventured, and let Sam keep hiding in his neck; maybe it was easier that way.

“I think so. Because...I don't want to leave anyone. You _or_ Dean. But how does that work?”

Ah, he was fishing. Just a little.

And he did deserve a fuller picture.

“It works with communication, honesty and openness and - “

“All Winchester trademarks,” Sam snorted, finally moving from his super-heated spot against Cas's neck, leaving him cold for a moment. “Sorry. I'm sorry. I think we're both freaked out. I think that's probably why he went out tonight.”

“He hasn't done that since you've been here?”

“Nope.”

“And then I show up and he's out the door.”

“Right.”

Not great.

But, all in all, fairly standard Dean behaviour.

“Maybe...he thought we'd want some time alone?” Cas offered. It _could_ be true. Easily. And, “Even if he didn't have that much foresight, I'm grateful.”

“Yeah?” Sam's face slid easy into sweetness, surprise.

“Yeah,” Cas agreed, had to kiss Sam on his pointed little nose, had to nuzzle along his scratchy face and cradle the back of his head and just be there, with him. “I missed you a lot this week. More than I expected.”

“Yeah,” Sam sighed back at him, held him close and there they were, strange place, strange newness sliding down into warm familiarity.

They never finished the unpacking, tumbled into lazy reassuring fucking, already tucked up against each other when Dean burst loudly back in the front door. Comically, almost, swearing drunk, crashing around and unsteady thumping up the stairs.

Sam sighed heavy against him and Cas practically predicted the quiet, “Should we check on him?”

“No,” Cas muttered and tucked back in against Sam, “Tomorrow.” and Sam grunted assent and barely relaxed.

 

* * *

 

 

Breakfast. Sam manned the stove while Cas stared at his tense shoulders. Big, uncovered, shifting muscles under tanned skin. Pyjama pants always so low on his hips and Cas didn't even know if objectification was okay right now with Dean slumped groaning across the table from him.

“Extra grease,” he moaned and cradled his coffee a little too lovingly.

Sam nodded terse and Cas went back to the game of chess they were playing.

Evidently.

“Anyone gonna ask?” Dean blurted out, just when Sam dropped the communal plate of french toast off.

No one asked.

“Jesus, you guys,” Dean muttered. The only one talking.

Not healthy, like two steps forward and then this giant leap back and couldn't Cas just play boyfriend for five minutes?

_No_.

He'd dug this hole.

“You went out last night,” Cas said, eyebrows raised at Dean, “And you look extraordinarily hungover today.”

“I _feel_ extraordinarily hungover.”

“And what else.” Cas didn't even ask; if Dean wanted to fill them in so bad, let him.

Dean shrugged, shoved a stack of french toast into his mouth and focused on his plate, too intensely.

“Oh, for fuck's sake,” Sam grumbled beside Cas, dangerous low and dire impatience. “You got laid and you want us to get pissed off or something, right Dean? Everything smells like cheap perfume, so, congrats. Don't care.”

Cas blinked, nearly laughed but _that_ would have been inappropriate, he knew that much.

Instead, he watched them stare each other down over the table. Kind of hot and really disastrously bad.

But Dean caved first, shrugged and hunched back over his breakfast. “Sucked anyway.”

_Of course it fucking did_.

Cas wanted to smack him. Maybe he _could_ since this was off hours. Maybe that would help it along.

But _no_ , Dean kept spilling.

“She was so fucking hot, like she coulda charged and I might've actually paid, y'know?” His face scrunched up kind of cute over the forkful of eggy bread. “We did it in the bathroom. She bent over the sink - “

“Okay, okay, oh my god,” Sam stopped him with his hand up. Cas saw the faintest smile on his face somehow but wasn't that just Sam? “Please no more details.”

“ - And the in the car.”

“Dude.”

“And nothing.”

“You couldn't get it up?” Sam smirked, incredulous, “Sounds like she was real patient, at least.”

“No, jesus, I mean I didn't feel it like...like when we do it.” He glanced at Sam but then made a twirl with his finger, “All of us.”

“Huh,” Sam said, pushed back from the table. “What, like, _feelings_? Do you want to talk about them?”

Cas swallowed a chuckle in his coffee but couldn't resist the smile. Oh god, Sam was just lovely and perfect and this was no time to be so snarky but he _was_ and it worked somehow. Never what Cas would recommend but it worked.

“Just shut up, I'm just sayin'. I won't screw around anymore.”

He looked at each of them like it was the greatest, most amazing thing in the world and Cas kind of ached sad that it wasn't as much of a revelation as Dean wanted it to be.

“If you want to,” Sam went first, went slow and quiet and Cas loved him for that, “You can. It doesn't like...diminish how awesome it is. When it's the three of us, I mean.”

Dean's brow creased, long lashes fluttering over tired red eyes. “What the fuck do you mean? Isn't that what this whole...thing is about?” he gestured between them and his eyebrows shot up, slightly threatening but that was all he knew how to do.

“Not really,” Cas finally chimed in, too long letting them run over each other. “Although I appreciate the gesture, but you can do whatever you want. You're an adult, we're all adults.”

“Just don't _tell_ me about it?” Sam said, “Or send me pictures or anything.”

“This is fucked up,” Dean muttered, squinting in disbelief at both of them, like this was the worst stupidest thing he'd ever heard. “I mean seriously, hippie fucked up shit. You condone this, Doc?”

“It can be healthy. With boundaries, like Sam just set up. We're in a unique relationship anyway.”

“ _We_ aren't in anything,” Dean protested, “Sam's crashing here and you two are the boyfriends and if anything, I'm some weirdo third wheel and - “

“You aren't. Don't think about it like that,” Cas started, “You're equal with us in this. Unless you don't want to be.”

“I just don't get it,” Dean grumbled, slouching back and picking at his plate with his fingers, getting them all sticky with syrup, bits of paper towel sticking to that until he made a disgusted noise and got up for the sink. “You guys are fucked up,” he said over his shoulder.

“So...you're out?” Sam asked, and it seemed like he held his breath and Cas did too.

Dean snorted, “Fuck you, fuck no.”

And Sam groaned and Cas laughed and fuck them both indeed.

 

* * *

 

 

Cas hadn't gone to Meg's on an off-day for years. It was strange to be out of his rhythm, all mixed up with things. Monday, and he'd spent two days at Dean's. Wait. Three? Three, because it was getting dark now, early like 5pm dark like it did in December. Just the faintest chill in the air.

He was getting used to feeling messed up weird.

It wasn't really so bad not knowing what was going on.

“This is the last time we're doing this outside,” Meg grumbled beside him once they were out. No stars yet, barely full dark, kind of early for Cas to be burning down the customary joint, but he was. At least some things had to stay the same.

“Agreed,” Cas sighed out smoke up to the sky, the moon and stars not yet out. Just dark deep blue and that was nice too. Dark winter comfort. He gave her a glib run down and loved how nonchalant she took it, with barely the raise of an eyebrow. Like she knew him, really really knew him deep down and trusted most of his choices. He felt lucky.

“So, this begins your sabbatical, does it not?”

“It does.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“The sabbatical or...”

“The reasons why you're taking one? Well. Which do you _want_ to talk about?”

“I don't know. I haven't taken so much time off for a long time. It'll be a month.”

“Mhmm, and what do you intend to do with all that time?”

Yes. _What_.

He meant to better himself. Maybe there were courses he could take.

Or.

He could just lounge around Dean's house in varying states of undress and watch the Winchesters make eyes at each other. Play their maid while they worked. And Christmas, yeah, he'd spend it there too. It was a tough time He'd just make sure it all went smooth. Just insinuate himself in there real nice.

Cas sighed out another exhale. “Honestly? Nothing. I should do _something_ but...I'm just going to spend it with the Winchesters.”

“Do you think you'll actually return to work refreshed, after that?”

“Maybe,” Cas drew it out and fell into laughter at the end. “I don't actually care, is that bad? It's probably bad. But it's so...I know I said consumed before. I am, it's worse now. It should be bad but it's not, it works.”

“Well, Novak, if it ain't broke...”

“It's still very tense.”

“But otherwise?”

“Otherwise...I think it's a success? Despite some very personal intervention. Too personal.”

“Which you've never really done before. I think we all get one.”

“Does this count as two?”

“You know, I don't even know anymore? It's definitely rare. A happy ending to an unrequited incestuous relationship. You should write for a journal about it.”

“Meg, oh my god, _no_ ,” Cas nearly choked, tipped his head back against the chair and laughed quietly.

“Assumed name?”

“No! No one needs to hear about this.”

“Aw, so what're you gonna tell your grandkids?”

They both laughed at that.

Cas sighed happy and lounged, stretched out and breathed in the cool air and how was all of this so good? Maybe the tension was all him, waiting for something bad. Maybe something bad just wouldn't happen.

Amazing.

“So...” Meg started, and Cas heard the quiet smirk in her voice, “When you leave here, are you going to their place?”

“It's just Dean's place, it's not _their_ place.”

“Oh, come on. How long do you think that's going to last? Next week, you'll be helping Sam move his clothes again, into Dean's closet. In a few weeks, maybe after New Years? You'll be hanging your own stuff up in the guest room. I know you don't do serious relationships, Novak, but you've wandered into two at once. Might as well call them like you see them.”

“I have - “

“Zero expctations, yeah, yeah, I know.” Meg finished laughingly for him, quite an old line but if he had any kind of life philosophy, it was that. “That doesn't mean it's bad to _want_ something. So what do you want with the Winchesters?”

“Happiness,” Cas sighed out, closing his eyes against the dark sky, feeling the heat from the big joint lick at his fingertips already. “For them but _with_ them, too. Especially with them.”

“There you go.”

“Am I cured, Doc?”

“Shut up,” Meg jostled him, kicked at him with a blanket-covered foot.

And he already _felt_ happy; they talked about it, the nature of that particular feeling, the nuances. If it was selfish to want it for other people over yourself and vice-versa and by the time the hour was up, Cas felt relieved, felt light enough to hum along with the radio all the way home.

Well. Not home.

Dean's.

Or Sam and Dean's, depending on the view you took.

Twenty minutes out, his phone buzzed in his pocket; real bad form driving spacey-high and digging around but he speakered it without looking.

“Cas? Gotta ask you something,” came Sam's voice, and that was the real car-crash bait; he was low-voiced, slightly out of breath in a way Cas recognized immediately.

“Ask away,” Cas smiled, sort of sixth-sense knew where this was headed and there was _happy_ again, somehow, creeping in slow and nice.

“It's okay if Dean and I mess around, right? Like, until you get back?”

There was another lecture somewhere in Cas, about how they could do what they wanted but this was _so_ not the time.

“Of course it is.”

“Good, 'cause we already started,” Dean's voiced sailed up a little out of the way, ghostly gruff, speaker-tinny.

Cas smiled wider until it hurt, fought to keep his mind on the road but, “What're you doing?”

Quiet, too long of that until Sam's, “I'm um, I'm blowing Dean.”

“You _were_ ,” Dean argued and Cas could see it so easy, Sam on the floor tucked between his brother's legs, Dean all spread open and beautiful and he _wanted_ to see that, terribly badly, unconsciously pushing a little faster on the empty road.

“Don't stop on my account, Sam,” Cas chuckled, turned the radio all the way down and made do with that sweet music for the rest of the way.

 


	15. Chapter 15

Sam's not sure what this is.

Movie night? It felt like a movie night, like they're some cute old couple shifting seamlessly into this sort of casual turned-down thing. Dean had popcorn ready when Sam got in, filled the house up with buttery smell, general homespun warmth. He had something queued up on the TV, all ready to go. Sam sat on the couch, jammed into the opposite corner while Dean poured him a drink and pushed play.

Something with super heroes started fast. Dean always loved that shit and Sam didn't hate it, but he liked less ham-fisted intrigue. More spies, less spandex. But after a few belts of Dean's stunningly good whiskey, maybe even special occasion whiskey, he'd be into anything.

Half an hour in and Dean turned to him, stretched his arm across the back of the couch and raised his eyebrows.

What a _move_.

Sam's pulse still picked up, maybe always would in a no matter what kinda way. Ten years ago, ten days ago, it'd be a different invitation. But this is almost wholesome.

“C'mere,” Dean said, cocked his head.

And Sam couldn't move fast enough, tucked under Dean's outstretched arm, snuggled in hard and deep, mindful of elbows and knees but there it was; the best part of everything right now. Dean's heart thudded against Sam's back, fast and regular, tick-tocking comfort.

Sam leaned into it and the movie played and he barely paid attention anymore, nothing but pretty colours and explosions flashing on the big TV, brightness licking back in the dark room. Afer a while, Dean nosed at his neck, serious and gentle.

“Hey, I been thinking,” he started and somehow, that blew Sam's calm just a little, just enough. He swallowed hard, waited like pins and needles on Dean to continue. “There's some stuff we haven't really done yet. So if you're up for it, maybe we could, like, catch up.”

_Stuff_.

Sam didn't want to jump to conclusions but he assumed that _stuff_ meant _dick-related stuff_ and of course they hadn't done it _all_ , hadn't run any kind gamut in the chaste week since their fuck-bonanza at Cas's house.

“What stuff?” Sam asked, said it like a dare. He tipped his head up to watch the action movie lights dance on Dean's face, to watch it crease in consternation. Served him right.

“You know. _Stuff_.”

“Nuh uh. Tell me.”

“Jesus christ,” Dean heaved, tickled Sam's ear, his hair, with the force of the sigh, “You gotta make this difficult, huh?”

“Mhm,” Sam admitted, breaking into a smile, and then Dean did too. Felt good, that he could do that. That they could joke, even a little. Sam shifted, grazed his palm against Dean's thigh. “My sworn duty as your little brother.”

“Little,” Dean snorted, “Little, he says. Overgrown's more like it.”

“You weren't complaining about that before.”

“Aw, shut up,” Dean grumbled, “Can't use that against me. That was all crazy and shit. Not normal.”

“Uh huh,” Sam rolled his eyes, rolled his palm up and down Dean's thigh, gripping harder. “So you don't like being pinned down and fucked under ordinary circumstances?”

Dean didn't even laugh.

Maybe that was too far, maybe _that_ was the thing, but Dean puffed out an incredulous breath eventually; Sam felt that one too.

“I just meant, you haven't sucked my dick yet. And I'm kinda looking forward to that.”

_Oh, god._

Sam nearly moaned out loud, like two decades of yearning hammering him in the gut. It wasn't a big deal, it was the biggest deal in the world. Sam logged hours, probably, staring at Dean jerking off, desperately wishing he was closer, like on his knees, on the receiving end. Wishing for a trade with the numerous girls Dean slapped his dick on.

And now, Dean asked for it. Looked forward to it. Fucking _wanted it_ , maybe as much as Sam did, if that were even possible.

_Nothing to say._

Sam tried to steady himself, pretending his hands weren't actually shaking. Why would they be? He'd sucked dick before.

Just not this one. Not this long-sought big brother cock and it was a real stupid oversight that it hasn't been in his mouth yet.

“You in?” Dean asked, brought him sharply back to reality.

“Yeah,” he sighed out, “Yeah, man, of course I'm in,” like it was nothing, like it was just dick-sucking and not the only thing he'd ever really, truly wanted. _One of them at least_. He started to slide off the couch already, halfway to his knees when Dean sort of chuckled, gripping at his shoulder, meaning to pull him back up.

“Dude. I didn't mean get on your knees right fucking now. We can still...y'know. Do all that other stuff.”

“Maybe I don't wanna,” Sam said, and he kind of didn't; twenty years of foreplay was enough for _that_ particular act and he couldn't fucking wait to dive in.

Except when he looked up, Dean frowned, face creased lovely, his hand reaching down and brushing at Sam's face. “Well, maybe I do,” he swallowed, half-shrugging.

As much of an admission as Sam might ever get out of him.

That was enough for now.

Sam made it back up in record time, straddled over Dean's lap and grabbed his face, delighted in the vague shock there, in Dean's pretty open mouth, pink and round. Sam kissed him, had to bend nearly double to reach but it was fucking worth it.

For all the awe, Dean only stayed pliant for a second; his hands clutched Sam's hips needy-fast, tilting his head just right, so nice and quick. Sam pushed inside fast, greedy-licking into Dean's whiskey-flavoured mouth, drumming along his razor straight teeth.

Fast, fast. Never fast enough.

Sam wanted to stop time to revel in this, in the welcoming warmth of Dean's beautiful mouth, the desperate clutch of his hands. What if it faded, one day? Got less dangerous, less immediate? Oh, he couldn't think like that, not yet. It just started and _not yet_.

They made out long, groped like kids and the movie droned on forgotten in place of hands, teeth and tongues. It didn't take much to get Dean worked up, Sam noticed, interest piqued. Was that just for him? Or was that with everyone? Maybe he'd find out one day and it wouldn't be too hard, not with Cas conscripted for the long haul. He'd had that chance before, totally had a front row seat and blew it freaking out, sitting still with his eyes shut and his fists balled.

Well, not next time.

Sam moved down Dean's neck, past days of stubble, past a casual thought of _Dean with a winter beard,_ biting at the meat of his shoulder. Not too hard but Dean liked it anyway, shuddering just enough.

“Y'know, haven't fucked you yet either,” Dean considered, nearly breathless, latching onto Sam's hips again, diving into the waistband of his dark jeans.

And _god_ , Sam bit down a groan, felt his cock pulse in his pants and _that_ wasn't anything he'd really thought about happening in the immediate future, the furthest away pipe dream and now, oh _jesus_ , Dean grabbed at his ass and laughed low and knowing.

“Like that, huh? Been thinkin' about it sometimes, when we're in bed,” Dean said, hissed when Sam bit down on him just to stop himself from moaning like a bitch. “When I'm crammed all up against your cute little ass there. Been wondering if you liked that but I guess I got my answer, huh?”

“Yeah,” Sam sighed out against Dean's tooth-marked skin, barely red around the edges under the stretched collar of his t-shirt. And the more left unsaid about liking his ass pounded for now, the better. Sam was still dealing with the actual extent that he enjoyed it, from the handful of times Cas had him. It was just about the best thing, better than he'd ever expected. Crazy hot from start to finish and Cas always looked incredible, sounded better, knew just how to work him over and...

_Cas_.

Shit.

“I want to, Dean,” Sam said, let it slide across his skin while he kissed back up to Dean's mouth, sink his teeth in there too, to his plush pink bottom lip, “But...”

“But.”

“But I wanna call Cas. Don't laugh.”

He did anyway but it wasn't unkind, low and sweet and very much Dean.

“Yeah, I think that's a good idea.”

“You do.”

“Fuck yeah, you guys got that whole phone sex thing going on. It's hot. Besides, he likes watching. I'm pretty sure.”

“He does?” Sam hadn't noticed, maybe hadn't noticed a lot of things going on with them. Maybe there was already more to Dean and Cas than he'd even seen but god, he wanted to see more.

“Hell yeah, he does. Go on, call 'im.”

“In a minute,” Sam sighed, back on Dean's neck, where all the strongest smells of him were; leather and grease and dark chocolate and the sweat at the end of the day. Just good, so so good, familiar and new at once. Hard bordering on impossible to tear himself away from _there_ but when he slipped down onto his knees for the second time and nudged the bulge in Dean's pants with his cheek, when he did _that_ and Dean grunted like an animal, yeah, it was worth tearing away.

He'd call Cas. He'd do that for _sure_.

But Dean's dick was right there and Sam's mouth watered for it.

Was that too much to admit to, out loud? Would _that_ fuck Dean up but good? A casual, friendly, 'hey bro, been dreaming about cramming your dick down my throat since I knew that was a thing?'

Probably too much.

So Sam went wordlessly along, splitting Dean's fly open, tugging his dick out and marvelling. Just marvelling because that was it and this was it and then Sam was just _on it_ , held breath spilling out in a shudder. Sam knew if his hand wasn't so fucking huge, like if he were built like a normal kind of person, his fingers might not clasp all the way around Dean's thick shaft. Might not be able to fit him in his mouth if he were smaller but he was made to take this, he knew.

Like literally, to take it.

The dick sucking became a fine distraction for the wormy nerves in Sam's stomach at the thought of _Dean_ _fucking him._ So much easier to deal with his lips parting wide around Dean's cockhead, to concentrate on tasting and sweeping his tongue and the pretty noises Dean made above him.

In a second, both Dean's hands clutched Sam's hair, tugging sharp and sweet and insistent and in another second, Sam was done with any kind of teasing. No holding back. No looking ahead or behind, all the world in his brother's cock bumping the back of his throat, leaking along his tongue. Dean's hips hitched into his face and he swore and only then did Sam think maybe, just maybe this was going too fast.

“Can't call your boyfriend with my dick in your mouth, Sammy,” Dean reminded him, sounded pained but said it anyway.

He pulled off with a groan that Dean mirrored, fishing his phone out of his pocket and throwing it on the couch, watching it bounce beside Dean's spread thighs. Fucking heaven where he fit right now and about the only thing he'd imagine stopping for was Cas. When Dean didn't grab the phone, Sam did; Cas was the first contact, starred, most important, most everything. Mouth full, lips stretched open, Sam dialed, kind of couldn't wait for Cas's hot gravelly voice, how it'd get even lower once he told him what was going on.

It didn't ring for long.

“Cas?” Sam said first, licked Dean's precome off his lips, tossed the phone back onto the couch, “Gotta ask you something.”

“Ask away,” Came Cas without pause, speaker-phone crackly and kind of knowing in that goddamned hot way of his.

Sam blinked up at Dean then, worried his swelling lip between his teeth. “It's okay if Dean and I mess around, right? Like, until you get back?”

Sam _knew_ the answer, knew it was futile asking but part of him didn't feel right, felt hard and knotted up until he had that go-ahead, especially given what was _actually_ going to be happening before too long.

“Of course it is,” Cas sighed out; Sam heard the vague amusement there but he still sounded so sweet, always kind like that. No matter how stupid the question.

“Good, 'cause we already started,” Dean announced, winked at Sam and goddamn, that made his heart flutter like some schoolgirl, like Dean was the most popular greaser and Sam a sweet ponytailed virgin.

“What're you doing?” Cas asked.

Sam heard the grin in it and maybe Dean was right about that whole watching thing. Dean was right about an alarming number of things, sometimes. Sam sighed out a hot breath against Dean's dick, squeezed it and watched it twitch up against his fingers. “I'm um, I'm blowing Dean.”

“You _were_ ,” Dean reminded him, spread his legs wider and tipped his hips up sharp so his dick brushed back against Sam's mouth and his lips parted automatically to curl around his head again. In a second, he was nosing against Dean's stomach, throat working him down, making Dean hiss so sweet.

“Don't stop on my account,” Cas chuckled.

“He's back down there, don't even worry,” Dean said, hand tangling in Sam's hair again. He moved the phone to his other hand, stared down at Sam in a way that made him shiver.

“Good,” Cas said, gruff, interested. Fucking hot. “He's fantastic, isn't he?”

“Yeah, Cas. Amazing.”

God, and Sam moaned with his mouth full, hollowed out his cheeks and proved it. He worked Dean hard enough to leave him speechless for a few moments. Sam tugged at his balls; even those were perfect, heavy and dusted with ginger hair, like the beard he'd vaguely thought about earlier.

Dean groaned, arched up again and pulled Sam's hair, spat out, “Jesus fucking christ,” into the phone, “Fantastic doesn't even cover it, doc.”

It was almost too much attention and Sam was grateful he was busy, fully occupied in the way dick sucking always made him, filled with single-minded purpose.

“I'm gonna fuck him,” Dean announced, maybe out of nowhere, maybe apropos of a conversation he'd been having that Sam spaced on utterly. “You got any tips on that?”

“God,” Cas laughed again, “Take some pictures?”

Sam blushed, face heated up crimson, dick twitching hard in his now too-tight pants.

“Yeah, I knew you were into that shit. Takes one to know one,” Dean said, sucked his lip into his mouth and stared down at his brother all wide green eyes and lust blown face.

“The first time,” Cas started, slow, like he was considering how much to spill and Sam knew somehow the more intimate, emotional details would be safeguarded, “I ate him out for a while. Long while, it was gorgeous. And then I had my fingers up his tight ass and I thought, what the hell? So I sucked his dick too. You wanna tell him what happened, Sam?”

Dean's eyebrows raised and his hand gripped at his dick, pulled it away and out of Sam's mouth so he could answer, _goddamn him._

Sam panted for breath, wet drool slipping down his chin and he probably looked like a goddamned mess. “I came like that,” he huffed out, chased Dean's dick back down so he wouldn't have to say more.

“So he's easy, huh?” Dean asked, staring, intense enough that Sam blurted sticky precome into his pants, “Good to know. Maybe I gotta take it slow. Maybe I'll still be openin' him up by time you get back, huh?”

“That would be a little cruel,” Cas said, and thank fuck. “Beautiful, but cruel.”

“Yeah,” Dean muttered, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. His hand loosened in Sam's hair, stroked it back off his face, down to his neck. “Kinda sick of waiting already.”

Sam shivered again, agreed silent with his eyes, with a gentle nod.

“He wants it too, I'm sure,” Cas corroborated, knew Sam so well already and the two of them, goddamn everything, Sam might not make it too far into this if they didn't shut up.

“Oh yeah. Got that look in his eyes. You know the one.”

“Uh huh.”

_Goddamn them_.

Dean patted his face, cocked an eyebrow, expression gentle for a moment in asking in a way that made Sam soft all over. “Y'wanna go upstairs, Sammy?”

“Yes, god,” Sam tried not to whine but it sounded desperate anyway.

So they did; Dean flung his clothes off on the way, left a trail for Cas to follow later, whenever that was. Sam's head spun following him, still clothed, trailing behind and listening to the back and forth filth of his brother and his lover on the phone. They went together so well now, brain-drainingly good when they ganged up on him, talked about him like he wasn't there.

Dean set the phone beside the pillow, turned naked to Sam and advanced quick, fisted at his shirt and kissed him hard, all lip-crushing and tongue, teeth clacking for a jarring second. His hands felt everywhere, tugging Sam's shirt off, raking through his chest hair and pushing lower. Fingers curled around the tell-tale ridge in Sam's jeans, squeezed hard with a grunt.

“Fuck, he wants it, Cas,” Dean turned his head to the phone, then back to Sam, finally addressing him, “Don't you, Sammy? Wanna get pounded?”

Sam winced, didn't bother covering it up this time, just fucking whined and nodded and, “Yeah, you have no fucking idea.”

Maybe Dean did, maybe he didn't. Maybe he hadn't spared a thought for how much Sam dreamed of this. Or maybe he was downplaying what he figured out; that'd be typical.

“Got some idea,” Dean smirked, grabbing Sam's dick harder before tugging his pants apart, fucking finally. “C'mon, I'm done waiting,” Dean shoved just a little, towards the bed and Sam easily sprawled onto the soft sheets, hooked his thumbs into his boxers and whisked them off.

“You're upstairs?” Cas said, still hanging on, _god bless him._

“Yeah,” Sam panted, laid back against the pillow so it was like Cas was right there, right beside him. “Yeah, Cas. I'm on the bed. I'm - “

“He's laid out so nice, Cas. Oughta see him. If I sent you a picture, you'd fucking crash.”

Wasn't much more blushing Sam could do, not much more he was capable of but he swore his whole body went red under Dean's hungry gaze.

“Keep your man company,” Dean said, like a fucking instruction, eyebrow arching up, “I gotta get some stuff.”

Sam nodded eager as Dean disappeared into the bathroom, stretching out towards the phone, towards Cas. “Oh my _god_ ,” he groaned, relaxing into the bed, grinning so hard it hurt.

“You're good?” Cas asked, just a formality, probably, just because he had to because he was nice, he was that kind of guy.

“Yeah, Cas. I can't wait for you to get back here though, it's kinda weird without you.”

“Yeah? I'm looking forward to seeing all of this. Especially if it's as hot as it sounds.”

“Hope so. I'm...really, really ready. I wasn't sure, like I had no idea we were even gonna...but yeah.”

“Good. I'm maybe...twenty minutes away? But I can take more time, if you'd like.”

“No!” Sam almost sat up with the indignation of it but chuckled to himself instead, eyes on the bathroom door not fully closed where Dean was moving around. “No, I want you here. Like, as soon as possible.”

“Same,” Dean echoed, ducking his head out first before he walked out with lube and towels, all the important things. “Plus I know you wanna watch this shit real bad, Cas.”

“Well, yes,” Cas laughed.

Dean kneed down on the bed, careful slow looming over Sam. “Told you. Your creepy boyfriend gets his rocks off watching us.”

“So do you,” Cas argued, but Sam heard it far away, locked with Dean's eyes, shivering under his hand, skimming up his thigh.

He kind of tranced out, staring at Dean's big hand, thick flat fingers. He tensed hard just from that and how bad would it get once Dean was inside him? He'd _die_. That was it.

“So we're all creeps,” Dean conceded, his voice going softer while his hand curled around Sam's hip, thumbing at his hipbone. “'m fine with that. It's paying off, huh, Sammy?”

Sam swallowed hard, nodded, watched Dean's hand rush towards his dick like, finally, and he hadn't even been thinking about that really, hadn't even stopped too much to consider being touched and thank god because without even touching, he twitched up against the ghost of Dean's fingers and punched out a groan and this was trouble.

“Dean, c'mon,” he panted. Not even sure what he begged for, just wanted more, wanted everything, wanted Dean inside of him ten minutes ago, fifteen years ago. Didn't stop him from begging more, from spreading wide while Dean sunk down on top of him, grabbing his too-slow fingers and shoving them lower, down past his balls. “Really need it, I was telling Cas. I'm so ready, I'm -”

“I know,” Dean muttered, leaned down, nosed against Sam's neck and then Dean kissed him, warm open mouth, deep, long, achingly thorough. At the same time, his index finger stroked lower, found Sam's hole and pressed and they both moaned. “Not wastin' anymore time, Sammy, alright?”

“Uh huh, okay,” Sam rushed out, grasped at the back of Dean's head and opened as much as he could.

“Y'wanna tell Cas what's happening?” he said low and soft, against Sam's open wet mouth and they were all heat everywhere together.

“He's-he's gonna finger me open,” Sam stuttered, turned his head towards the phone and Dean attacked his neck then, grin evident while he mouthed Sam's skin. “Right?”

“Absolutely.”

“Go slow, Dean,” Cas warned, “Sam's tight as hell.”

“Yeah?” Dean asked, more to Sam than Cas, “What's up with that?”

But he was stroking against Sam's hole at the same time, leaving his mind totally elsewhere, utterly unprepared for answering questions or making words that weren't breathy little pleas. Then it was Dean's _lubed_ finger, just one and it felt so thick already. It was all resistance even as Sam tried to relax, tight muscle everywhere while Dean pressed and teased, pressed again and oh _fuck_ , there he was, just the second knuckle and Sam keened and Dean swore.

And _Cas_ swore like he knew what was going on, probably did somehow.

“Shit, you are not wrong, doc.”

“See? _Slow_.”

But _fuck slow_.

“I'm okay, it's okay,” Sam assured them and he was _okay_ , sure, in a basic fundamental kind of okay way since he was still breathing but also it was too fast, too much, head-spinning and life-altering and it didn't matter what speed they were going. The sooner the better, really.

“Fucking snug here, Sammy, how'm I gonna get my dick in there?”

“It'll be fine,” Sam told him immediately, snapped it out without forethought but then seriously, _how the hell would it fit?_ Sam felt it pressing against his leg, Dean's thick cock leaky wet at the tip. His mouth had stretched almost to the limit and now... _now_.

“Oh, I know it'll be fine. I'm not stopping anytime soon. Not until I'm buried all the way in there and you're fucking crying,” Dean said, coiled his finger enough to make Sam jump out of his skin, to light his every last nerve ablaze.

He _was_ going to cry.

Sam zoned hard out, hyper-focused on Dean's finger, on Dean's hot breath on his neck, sometimes his mouth too. Sometimes they kissed again, heated and messy and before he knew it, Dean had two fingers sunk in and Sam almost shook. No pain, it was all glide, the lube slicking him up so much, smeared on his thighs and his balls, and Dean _so_ knew what he was doing.

“He'll be ready soon, Cas,” Dean said, head turned against Sam's neck so his voice drifted rough towards the phone. “What's he sound like when he's stuffed with a cock?”

“Amazing,” Cas sighed out, sounded enamoured and awed and Sam ached briefly that he wasn't there yet. “It's quite an experience. You'll see.”

“Yeah, you will too, if you get your ass back here.”

“I'll be ten minutes, maybe? Actually...I'll give you some time. Alone, I mean.”

Sam barely heard it, only opened his eyes once Dean stopped moving his fingers in and out, kept them buried. He looked questioningly at Sam, who nodded, who would have nodded at anything, just then.

“Gotcha, buddy. Door's open,” Dean finished and Sam didn't know who hung it up first. Didn't matter. Ten minutes to Cas and Dean was just a few from actually fucking him, really _really_ fucking him. “He's sweet.”

“He...he was kinda my first time. Like this. Before we were even together,” Sam blurted out the explanation, no idea _why_ but he felt like he needed to.

Dean blinked. Blinked again like some realization dawned and his face creased in a frown so briefly, disappeared into lust again the next second when he kissed Sam open mouthed and greedy.

“Well, it's my turn,” Dean breathed against his lips and it was time, the room crackled with it. Totally, definitely the time. “You tell me, alright? If it's too much. If you wanna - “

“I'm not gonna want to stop, just go, please?” Sam had to beg, had nothing left to lose at this point. Ungrounded and lost while Dean got ready, half-watching him lube up his red-hard dick. Sam had to grab his own base-first, had to squeeze to keep from coming just watching, squirming anticipation.

It was terrible, it was everything.

Ready as he was, he was _not_.

Dean had one hand in his hair, stroking it again, his mouth wide on Sam's, distracting him while he pressed in, popped the thickness of his head against Sam's tight rim, pushed and _pushed_ and there was nothing in the world to distract Sam from that feeling, that stretch, that burn in his chest and behind his eyelids.

Dean on top, heavy and hot made up the whole of Sam's mind and body. This was how he'd always pictured it too, pliant and spread for his big brother, soaking up love or just lust or what the fuck ever was happening.

The room was a wall of noise, groaning and panting and Sam didn't know who's was who's and it didn't matter, it all sung together so nice, just something else to lose himself to.

“Jesus,” Dean spilled out against Sam's mouth, swept his tongue inside and swallowed all of Sam's swearing too. “So fuckin' sweet, Sammy.”

Oh, and it was too much, just like that. Dean barely thrust, rocked his hips lazy-shallow and Sam flung a leg around his waist, latched his arms onto Dean's strong back, dug his fingers in, stuttered, “Gotta slow down.”

“Slow down and we won't even be fucking,” Dean nearly laughed, but he did, he slowed to a crawl. “You're not gonna blow for me already, are you?”

Sam whined, nodded with a clenched jaw and he was, he really was like, five seconds away from coming and that was embarrassing as hell and then _shit_ , Dean laughed against his neck, wormed his hand between them and gripped at Sam's throbbing dick.

“It's okay, c'mon. You can come if you gotta. Here.”

He stroked tight, slow, and Sam bent into it hard, head tipping back against the bed while Dean chased his mouth again, devouring it whole, eating up his tongue and his teeth and the litany of needy noises that never really made it out, thank god.

It built so fast, Sam had no air to punch out when he came hard, just Dean's tongue in his mouth, Dean inside of him, Dean _everywhere_. He grasped him with arms and legs and cocooned around him while he shot messy onto Dean's hand, onto his stomach.

Dean loved it, hummed approval and bit his lips and slow-fucked him through it, groaned at the even tighter squeeze Sam knew he was fighting not to ram into.

He didn't give Sam a chance to come down.

Dean picked up speed with Sam still shaking, and Sam found himself as adjusted as he could be to that thickness, gone quick from too much to _never fucking leave._ He wanted to say that, to tell Dean to stay inside forever, to tell him a thousand other things that started and ended with _I love you_ but thank fucking god Dean hadn't stopped kissing him and he didn't have the breath in his lungs or the wherewithal in his mind.

“See, just had to get that one outta the way,” Dean said after a minute, squirming his sticky hand back out, shoving it between them to lick off. “Fast, like Cas said.”

Sam nodded clipped and quick but there was no respite, no rest before Dean was fucking him proper, deep long strokes that made Sam's whole body shudder, made him cling on tighter.

“It's good like that, ain't it? Shooting with something inside. Got even tighter and I really didn't think that was possible.”

Sam didn't have anything to say, just nodded open-mouthed and stared wide-eyed because Dean was gorgeous like this, eyes gone dark, face flushed and he wanted to tell him that.

But, instead.

“God, you're beautiful like this,” Dean said first and that was absolutely the last thing Sam expected to hear. “Look fucking gorgeous all fucked out and glowing. All filled up with me.”

Yeah, Sam was dying.

Dean was too, maybe, in a low-key kinda way, from the mystified look on his face, from the slow rolls of his hips, the plunging of his mouth. Hazy eyes and hitched breath and Sam was so sure, so fucking sure he felt it, _it_ , like Dean felt something he might never ever say but it was okay, it was all of a sudden very okay for what they were sharing instead because Dean couldn't stop kissing him, Dean had a hand twined into Sam's, fingers grasping, the other stroking his hair.

Sam couldn't say how long it went on for; Cas said he'd be there in ten minutes, so it had to be less than that but it felt totally out of time, totally on it's own watch while Dean fucked him. And Sam was still hard, never _not_ hard with Dean on top of him, but he didn't feel so out of control anymore, at least.

_Mostly_.

Dean sped up, eventually, licked back into Sam's mouth and rumbled deep moans while Sam clawed his back up, dug his heels into him and probably begged, definitely begged for it in a babbling embarrassment of noise and, “Come in me, come in me, please.”

Dean came, hips stuttering and sharp, buried in Sam in every way he could be, heavy balls squishing against his raised ass, his tongue plunging and his hands, both of them, deep in Sam's hair, pulling just a little. So sunk in that Sam felt nothing but Dean, nothing but his big brother filling him up everywhere.

Everywhere, skin and bones, heart and soul.

“Holy fucking shit,” Dean panted, tore his mouth away from Sam's eventually, only to sink it back down tongue-first, moaning at the slick slide.

Sam was hot-sticky everywhere, inside and out, his mouth and his ass and his brain too. “Yeah,” he agreed, maybe a minute later, maybe more. And he could probably say it now, _the thing_ , without judgment, because shit, this was a crazy moment. But he didn't, he didn't say anything more, just kept a tight hold of Dean, even as he tried to slip out. “Hey, don't, just stay. Just a minute.”

Dean huffed out a silent laugh, nodded into Sam's neck and gingerly pushed back in. They sighed together. Stayed there together.

“Pretty awesome,” Dean mumbled quiet. “Thought it'd be, I dunno, different.”

“Different...bad?”

“Just different. Maybe like...more just like regular fucking.”

“So what was it like instead?” Sam asked, already grinning, glowing, glad Dean couldn't see and he fucking _knew it_.

“I dunno,” Dean grunted. “Intense. It's not usually that intense.”

“Is that good?”

“It ain't bad.”

Well, that was good enough for now.

Sam revelled in that for a while, still drowning in it and Dean, still pressed sweaty together when they heard the front door open and Cas's measured footsteps up. He stopped in the doorway and Sam saw him there like a fucking vision, already pink-cheeked, glassy eyed and messy-haired, one hand undoing his pants. Sam stretched an arm out towards him, felt another swell of emotion in his chest rising up fast and out of control.

“Cas, c'mere,” he said, reached towards him with waggling fingers, only slightly desperate. “I want you, want you both, please.”

Cas hurried in, of course, flung off clothes and Dean twisted around as best he could to see, face slightly pink, maybe beautifully a little embarrassed to be seen soft-eyed and balls-deep.

“I want you both to fuck me, right now,” Sam blurted out, grabbing at Cas's arm, latching one leg around Cas's and he felt Dean twitch hard again inside of him and they both groaned.

“No way we're both gettin' in here, Sammy,” Dean said, amused, sharing a look with Cas that made Sam's chest constrict so nice again. “Maybe one day, champ.”

The moment passed; things relaxed. Sam nodded and knew Dean was right. Cas buried deep into Sam's neck and Dean was on the other side and that was pretty great too.

“There are other things we can do together, Sam,” Cas started, tangling their fingers together, nosing from Sam's cheek to Dean's and back again. Sam urged him on with wide, expectant eyes, ready to do anything for him, for them, anything together. “I still want to see Dean fuck you. Was it good? It looks like it was good. This aftermath is very nice.”

“Amazing,” Sam sighed, wanted to throw out every adjective he knew and make new ones about it because nothing really worked like he wanted. Dean hummed in agreement but kept mostly quiet, unusual but okay, Sam got it.

“So how about you bend over for him, hmm?” Cas purred into his ear and gave Sam goosebumps everywhere, “And you can suck my dick at the same time. Both of us inside you, like you wanted.”

“God, yes,” Dean groaned, already moving to rearrange, already so goddamned into it. He slid out of Sam slow, sighed about it and Sam did too, the emptiness hitting him strange even if it'd only be for a few moments.

It was dizzying how fast it all happened, how fucking good it felt like that. Sam shoved between the two of them, staring up and back in turns, full everywhere. Like he belonged like this, like they all did. Dean's fingers felt nearly tender on his hips this time, even though he fucked him harder, more wild, no less intense. Sam felt just as stretched full as the first time.

And Cas too, had this sweetness in his eyes, in his grasping hands and in the surprised-fast way he came at the same time as Dean, just a beat after Sam's own second orgasm, a twitchy oversensitive thing that utterly ruined him for the night, for a week.

Not even fucking ten pm and they tangled together spent and sweaty, Sam in the middle.

“You okay?” Cas asked him, quiet in his ear and Sam nodded, nuzzled in deeper to Cas's neck, wiggled still-bare back against Dean where he'd spooned around his big body, their typical formation.

Okay didn't cover it, didn't even begin. He felt _loved_ , felt it so hard it might tear him apart if he thought on it too long, if he stopped to consider any of it.

It was new, scary, perfect.

“I'm great,” Sam sighed, wriggled back against Dean and felt that hot spike in his chest again, that _want_ , that need and fuck it all. “I wanted to tell you I loved you like, a million times there, Dean,” Sam admitted, quiet, his voice sinking into Cas's skin.

He felt Dean's breath hitch just for a second, felt his hand skim up his hip, onto his chest, his fingers tucking into the little ring on a string that lolled towards Cas. “It's alright,” Dean sighed into his shoulder, buried himself there after a little kiss. “You coulda said.”

Sam nodded and no one said a thing.

Not until Cas twisted down to Sam's mouth, caught it and said, “Well, _I_ love you, Sam.”

Not mean, never that, and Dean laughed against him and Sam said it back in a muttered laugh and it was weird and sweet, the three of them like that.

* * *

 

Dean's routine had gone to shit. And he didn't even care. Everything happened so fast. First Sam pseudo-moving in and the weird wonderful week that went with that. And then Cas. Four days now. And it's not worth discussing because Dean liked it. He liked Sam's weird hours and the lingering soft smell of him. He liked Cas's sweaters slung over furniture in every room he'd inhabited, however briefly. He liked the close quarters and warmth. Liked watching his brother and Cas, even liked listening to them.

Like tonight.

Dean tucked up into bed like normal, glasses on his nose and the latest issue of _Muscle Machines_ spread open on a pillow in his lap. And downstairs, a door opened and shut quiet, back door, and soft low voices filled up his backyard. He smiled to himself, licked his finger and turned the page.

Still didn't think he'd been missing anything before. It was just different then. Solitude felt nice too, the kind in a bar or with a nameless stranger, but the way he'd accustomed to _company_ had to be a sign.

Or not.

Dean lost his observation skills to an in depth article about restoring a '74 Pontiac GTO, to the pornographic pictures of the car's insides. He still thought it was ugly as shit on the outside but pretty too, in the cryptic way of gears and grease.

He didn't jump at the door's opening but got the glasses off pretty quick, clattered them together in his fist and looked up to see Cas creeping in, smiling gently, nearly tiptoeing. He said nothing, rolled into the bed beside Dean and splayed a hand on his chest, jammed his head against his neck.

“Uh, hey,” Dean ventured a moment later, magazine closed and thrown to the side. He moved the pillow so Cas had more room, moved his hand onto Cas's back. He was cold under the t-shirt, big and billowy and just maybe Sam's. “Jeez, you're freezing.”

And then the sharp tang of weed floated up and Dean actually laughed because _what the hell_.

“Are you stoned?”

“You have a beautiful backyard, even in the fall.”

“So, that's a yes. Thanks. Where's my brother?” Dean asked, eyes flickering to the half-opened door.

“Downstairs. Working.”

“And did he partake?”

“No, he's working.”

“Got it. Well. Lemme know next time. I don't mind joining in.”

“Yeah?” Cas tipped his head up and Dean felt this stab of scary, wonderful familiarity like he got with nearly no one else. Maybe just with Sam and even then, that was too old to even notice, so this, _this_ rocked him.

“Yeah,” Dean shrugged one shoulder, settled down flat on his back and took Cas with him, endeavoured to warm him up from the outside. “Been a while, but, y'know, if a _doctor's_ doin' it...”

“I admit to overly taking advantage of my vacation already. That extends to still being here.”

“Four days,” Dean told him. “I barely even bring people here to bone, so it's like...weird.”

“I wanted to check in about that.”

“I'm fine with it,” Dean said, and goddamn, it was true, and what's more, “Actually, I kinda like it.”

“Good,” Cas said, squirmed until they were more face to face and Dean expected that to unnerve him immediately. He kept staring when it didn't, when Cas brushed a hand onto his cheek. “And I need to apologize.”

“If you ate that Korean takeout I was saving, so help me god - “

“No,” Cas had only a tiny, glassy eyed smile at that, but it was enough for Dean anyway. “No, Dean, I was really abominable when we first met.”

“Oh jeez,” Dean barked a laugh, rolled his head back against the pillow. “Dude, so was I.”

“Many clients are, I almost expect it. That's excused, Dean, believe me.”

“Really?” Dean looked over again, didn't generally carry on important conversations like _this_ but so fitting somehow for him and Cas. “Most clients play the long con with you?”

“That was a short game, if anything. If you need to apologize, I understand, but your behaviour is excused.”

“That mean I'm cured, doc?”

“Don't,” Cas's pretty mouth tugged in a grin he couldn't fight, not right now. “It means,” he continued, drawling it out, smoothing his hands over Dean's shoulders, his chest, “That there were a number of issues at play but I feel like we're moving past most of them. Yes, even the lying, and only because there's an honesty here, now. I'm sure you can feel it too.”

“I guess,” Dean muttered. But even if Cas was talking in stoned vagaries, Dean knew what he meant. Copping to it was another thing.

“Let me just say...the way you are with Sam? Even that first time I saw you together, even just _talking_? Dean, it's incredible. It's so...unlike the version of you that I knew. I honestly didn't believe there was much complexity to you at all.”

Dean _wanted_ to be offended, figured he had every right but he knew Cas was correct. He laughed instead, a stilted little snort. “Alright, doc, I get it.”

“No, you don't,” Cas argued, blinking so pretty at him, long and slow so the storms of his eyes revealed by aching degrees again, lanterns in the dim of Dean's room. “I misjudged you. I'm not even supposed to judge you _period_ in this job. It was terrible and I really am sorry.”

“I know,” Dean sighed out, tried half a smile and hoped to god this was the end of the talking. It was enough, it had been enough for a while. He didn't need apologies.

“You're really sweet, Dean,” Cas continued, at least looking away, tucking up under Dean's chin again, wrapping all around him, inescapable, but Dean didn't want an out anyway. “I was so... _so_ into Sam, almost immediately. It coloured my thinking of you.”

“Love at first sight, huh?”

“I never believed in anything like that,” Cas admitted, sounded far away so Dean pet at his hair, because why not. He could do that, now. Casually. “But when he stepped into my doorway...god. I can still see it. I can still feel it, what it was like. I should have immediately recused myself, I think.”

“Nah. Glad you didn't. Fucked up as all this is? We needed you. Like, _just_ you. No one else woulda figured this out.”

“I can't take credit for all of it.”

“Well, you should,” Dean argued, swallowed hard because he knew what he wanted to say next and fuck, it was not him. “It's good, y'know? What we got now. I mean, it's still all shiny new and shit but baring some kind of insane catastrophe, probably one that's _my_ fault, I think we're doing good. That's on you, doc.”

Quiet for a moment, just Cas squirming closer, his heated breath across Dean's bare chest and then Dean felt his mouth curving in a smile against his skin, his fingers grasping harder. “Okay. Good. We're good.”

“Good,” Dean muttered, hoped that was the end for now. But he liked this, god help him, even if it was just Cas. He _liked_ him in a big glowy happy way that he didn't usually like people, let alone people he slept with. The sudden rush of contentment was strange, strange floaty feeling and he closed his eyes against it, drifted away for long minutes. “Hey, Sam comin' to bed?”

“Working. Stake-out later, paperwork now. Just us.”

“Huh. But he knows you're up here, huh?”

“Of course. And he told me to text him if things got handsy.”

Dean snorted, swore, loved the filthy two of them unconditionally for all of that.

“Hey, wanted to ask. Unless you're sleeping.”

“Ask.”

“Christmas. What d'you do? Sammy said you got this huge family, and it's creepin' up so...not that I was makin' plans or anything but I just wanted to know.”

“Oh,” Cas chuckled out, raised his head and Dean watched his eyebrows drawn down, nearly confused, certainly thoughtful. “I hadn't given it any consideration. Sometimes I go home. Often I stay here because it's a troublesome time for many people. It's nice to be around to help. Of course, this year, things are different.”

“They are.”

Cas searched his face for long moments, squinting and gorgeous and thoughtful. “Maybe I'll stay. Michigan is horrifically cold in December.”

“We don't do anything here. I mean, I don't even do a tree. We usually get take-out, if we're even together, so...don't expect some kinda stylish celebration.”

“What did you do as kids? On the road?” Cas asked, laying his head back down.

“Same. Nothing and take-out. Stealin' presents sometimes. Dad never really...I mean, it's for families, y'know? Don't think he ever felt like we really were a family, after all that happened.”

“That sort of sucks. Especially as children.”

“Eh, I dunno if we were ever kids.”

“Let's do something this year.”

Dean blinked, reached over to turn off his little reading light at last, settling down for good, since apparently Cas wasn't leaving and he didn't want him to anyway. “Okay...like what?”

“Nothing complicated. We can get a tree and exchange gifts. Between the three of us, I'm sure we can cook something up that might be an acceptable holiday dinner.”

Oh, that was a great idea; Dean already buzzed from it.

“Let's uh, let's not tell Sammy, alright? Kinda surprise him. With the tree thing, at least. Think he might like that?”

“I think so. I know I would. It is a family kind of thing, you're right, and he deserves that. We all do.”

“Weird fuckin' family,” Dean huffed a laugh, nosed against Cas's hair, felt himself drifting sleepy already, warm and comfortable and god bless it, _happy_.

“Best kind.”

* * *

 

Winter in Kansas was about as cold as it ever got for Sam; on the west coast, it just rained and rained , but half-way through December, camped out in Dean's warm living room with the curtains all open one afternoon, it started snowing. Light, barely anything against the still-orange barely-bare trees but it still gave Sam pause, made him sidle up to the glass back door and watch it fall. The sky went white with it and the sight made him shiver a little, despite the cosy indoor heat.

Somehow, it felt different this year. Not just the snow, but everything. He knew why. It wasn't hard to figure out why.

He was happy and he was almost done expecting it to disappear or float away or drown itself in something terrible. Just happy, plain and simple.

It couldn't get any better.

But.

Dark and Dean was late and Cas was out so Sam warmed up leftovers, was still waiting at the microwave, drumming a rhythmless beat on the counter when the front door opened in a flurry enough to make him move sort of instinctively, somehow expecting something bad.

_But_.

Cas came first, warm furry hat with earflaps perched on his head, half a tree under his arm and Dean was behind him, bringing up the rear.

“What the hell?” Sam laughed, moved to help but there wasn't any room for the three of them like that and for all the awkwardness, they had it under control. They had a fucking _Christmas tree_ under control.

“Hey, surprise,” Dean called from behind Cas, apple-cheeked in the cold, snowflakes melting in his hair, on his black jacket.

“Surprise,” Sam repeated and why _now_ did he tense like something terrible was going to happen? It wasn't, it never would, not with them. Not anymore or maybe just not yet. But it was hard not to look for misfortune, not to expect Dean to go looking for outs.

But this looked like the opposite of an out, the exact antithesis of running.

“Yeah, surprise,” Dean repeated, shutting the door with his boot, steering the tree behind Cas, looking brightly at Sam in a way that gave him butterflies. That happened a lot, lately. “Two weeks until the festivities. We got to talking, figured what the hell, why not?”

“Okay,” Sam drawled out, trailing behind them, “Should I be worried you two are conspiring now?”

“Oh yeah, big time,” Dean grinned over his shoulder, “You're gonna be in so much trouble, Sammy. On all sides. No escape now.”

Fucked up that that sounded so _good_.

“You never do Christmas,” Sam pointed out. Still...was it shock? Skepticism? He couldn't shake it, perching on the arm of the couch and crossing his arms, watching them up-end the tree and lean it against the wall.

“Stuff's different this year,” Dean pointed out in a huff, shrugging, suddenly intensely interested in brushing the melting snow from his jacket. “So, I figured...I dunno. We'd do it. Can't get a refund on a tree, so...y'know. Merry Christmas.”

_Honestly_.

Sam had no idea what to do, stuck in place until Cas stepped forward, so fucking cute in that fucking ridiculous hat, his cheeks red with cold.

“We were talking, and Dean said you've never really done any of this. Besides _this_ surprise, we're going super low-key, don't worry.” He grabbed Sam's hand, dry and cold against warmth and Sam sandwiched Cas's in both of his, swallowed his hand up. “Besides, _this_ , the three of us, versus a house stuffed full of my very loud relations and their even louder children, in the bitter northern cold? I'd rather be here. With you, and Dean.”

“Yeah, I'm gonna start chargin' you rent, doc,” Dean slid up behind him, rubbed nervous at the back of his neck and took a long time to look back up at Sam. “I'm not trying to be weird or presumptuous or anything, Sammy. Just thought - “

“It's great,” Sam finally said, “I'm...surprised, like you wanted. Definitely. About all of this, actually. Good-surprised. I just never thought it'd be like this. Like _this_.”

He didn't elaborate, couldn't possibly but they knew. They knew what he meant and what he felt, all the dirty-good-bad-stickiness of it. He was caught staring mystified at Dean, not for the first time since he'd moved in, not for the last.

And Dean rolled his bright green eyes and tacked him right down onto the couch, landing cold on top with a thud, with his heart racing wild against Sam's chest. “Hey, Merry Christmas, dummy. Stop starin' at me like that.”

But he couldn't, never would, just grinned and sprawled underneath Dean's weight, felt the other end of the couch by his head dip with Cas's weight so he was buffeted on all sides, again, _again_. Forever.

 

 


	16. Chapter 16

New Years.

Cas never did a thing for New Years. Just another night wrapped up in a blanket watching movies, asleep early, nothing special.

But _this_ year, this year of _everything_ being different and new and wonderful, this year, he conspired with Sam. Maybe a little underhanded, sure, but it'd be worth it. Tradition dictated the brothers frequented bars, apart. Picked up, apart. So this was new. Nice and new.

This was the three of them crammed into a booth in a bar _together_. Barely enough room. Cas backed against the wall and Dean sat in the middle, so close, legs all tangled together. Sam had the outside, blocking the view.

They'd planned _that_.

They'd planned the rounds of shots it took to get them together, all on one side, planned to get Dean just a little hazy before they really moved in. Not that he'd say no. They knew he wouldn't.

Cas watched him take shot number four, watched the way his full lips stuck on the rim, got shiny-wet with whiskey, watched him lick it off and god, he was beautiful. Cas never wanted to stop staring. And he didn't have to.

“So, happy new year,” Cas grinned, curling one hand around Dean's thigh, wasting no time in moving up and up, groping at where he knew Dean slung his dick in his pants, curving thick against his leg.

“Whoa,” Dean jumped a little, hands flat on the table, eyes going wide, “Uuh, what're we doing here?”

“Happy new year,” Sam repeated; Cas watched him go in for Dean's neck, felt his long fingers bumping his own on Dean, going far faster, already squeezing at the soft weight of Dean's dick. “That's what we're doing.”

“Kinda...public, ain't it?”

“Mhmm,” Sam hummed, low but Cas heard it and it sent a shiver down his spine, same as it did Dean's. “We know you like this shit. Figured we could indulge you.”

“God, okay,” Dean sighed out, tipping his head back against the dark wood, grinning lazily, hazy-buzzed and happy, Cas could tell. No fight in him, and why would there be? Not for this.

Sam kissed up to Dean's mouth slow and messy, left a wet trail that the dim light caught on and made shine. He hesitated for the sweetest second at Dean's lips, made his brother plunge forward with a needy noise and smash against Sam's mouth.

So close, a breath away, they were beautiful together in a jarring, shocking way, something he'd never get used to, never wanted to. So much better than any other couple he'd been with for all that intangible heat that poured out of them. He was surprised the entire bar wasn't in flames, or else the world.

No time at all before Sam grabbed a handful of Cas's shirt and hauled him closer, against his mouth, then to Dean's, back and forth endlessly, over and over. Dean sprang up hard fast under Cas's hand and he squeezed more, stroked at the big firm ridge in Dean's jeans, wondered not for the first time how he fit all that into denim.

“You are _so_ goddamned hard,” Cas breathed into Dean's ear, bit at the shell of it and felt him twitch just for hearing it. “Haven't even done anything yet.”

“He's _easy_ ,” Sam drawled, “He's fucking hot and always ready to go and so. Fucking. Easy.”

“Jesus christ,” Dean huffed under his breath, but he didn't argue, knew better than that. “The hell did you freaks plan, huh? Ganging up on me?”

“Nothing bad,” Sam assured him, “Well...bad's relative, right? Nothing you won't like, but I _guess_ it's kinda bad.”

“Pretty bad,” Cas agreed. Already off-script, he popped Dean's jeans open and tugged his dick out, made a little grunt of appreciation because goddammit, but he loved this dick. The rest too, yes, totally and increasingly, but there was just something about _this_.

Dean laughed, groaned, all in one, when Cas started stroking at him, his pretty green eyes fluttering shut, head thunking back against the booth again. He didn't care, apparently, if anyone saw.

They'd bet on that happening.

And look, it was.

“Yeah, get him, Cas,” Sam said, nearly laughed it out, let his head rest against Dean's temple, “Likes it fast, don't you? What would you do if Cas just starting blowing you, huh? Right at the table?”

Dean groaned louder, lost already.

_So. What the hell._

Cas shifted back, fisted at Dean's dick and bent in half to lick at the head, made him shudder so nice. Dean's hips jutted against his face, impatient and wanting. Hands tangled in Cas's hair, shoved him down further and he willingly went, loving the stretch of his mouth, the sharp taste under his tongue.

Alright, Dean wasn't the only one who liked it _fast_.

“God, that's pretty,” Sam said, low voiced, crowding close, his big body blocking the view and penning them both in. “Anything better than Cas's mouth? I swear it's fucking heaven.”

“I mean...your ass is pretty great, Sammy,” Dean managed to spit out, his teeth gritted together hard.

Cas agreed, moaned and nodded with his mouth full, his own dick aching in brief sympathy over _that_ , over the best _best_ thing of all, over how much Sam liked getting drilled now, all begging and unashamed. It got better every time they did it together.

“Yeah, alright,” Sam huffed, “You two are fucking obsessed.”

“So're you,” Dean said. Cute _cute_ brotherly bickering that Cas really couldn't get enough of.

And it was true, anyway.

Cas didn't bother to snipe back, to join in the conversation; Cas sucked dick like he got paid for it, swallowed all of Dean down until he couldn't breathe. Sam's fingers wriggled nearby, squeezing at Dean's balls at the same time. Not at all what they'd planned, not really, but sometimes playing Dean by ear worked best.

The bar buzzed busy, people everywhere, a thick wall of noise that they added to. The low dirty talk above Cas floated in and out; sometimes Dean sounded strained, pulled taut against Sam's free-flowing filth. Sometimes he laughed untroubled. Sometimes they both tugged at Cas's hair, three hands in there shoving him down faster, slower, harder, until his mouth started aching in the best way, just around the edges.

“I think,” Sam started, playful, dangerous, “I think you should shoot down Cas's throat before we move on to the second part of our plan.”

“You have a plan?” Dean panted, amazed and amused.

“Kind of. It's a loose plan. More of a suggestion.”

“What is it? Y'gonna fuck me here or something?”

“Hmm, maybe. You wanna find out?”

“God, yes,” Dean snapped off the answer so fast, Cas grinned around his dick, sucked him in harder and tested his limits of breathing, stretching.

“Then you gotta come in his mouth,” Sam crooned, and Cas heard soft wet noises, messy-sloppy kissing above him.

Hands on his face, big and long fingered, Sam grasping at him hard, sliding down to his neck and squeezing, holding him still.

“Go on,” Sam urged Dean, “Go on, fuck his mouth, he can take it.”

God, Cas _could_ , and more besides, and he went all tight and immobile for Dean, stayed in one place while Dean pistoned in, not a great range of motion with the table in the way but he'd probably had his dick sucked in stranger locations because he made it work. Dean shoved stilted little thrusts against Cas's mouth, tangled his hands tight in his hair, made his eyes fucking water but _my god, worth it._

“Yeah, that's it,” Sam cooed above him, against Dean's throat, “We'll get in your mouth next, Dean. Both of us, just shoving in there. Think we'll fit? Or is someone gonna have to jizz on your face?”

“Jesus – fuck – yeah, want it on my face,” Dean managed, punching it out while he fucked into Cas's mouth as hard as he could given the awkward angle, the table, the bar full of fucking strangers.

Cas moaned around Dean's dick as he felt it throb and _shove_ and he came down Cas's throat, stayed there until he finished, until Cas gasped for a real breath. Dean twitched and pulled off, shivered and blinked wide and sweet in the low light. Cas grinned even though he was a little sore, grinned and ran the back of his hand over his swollen lips. Not that he'd spilled a drop, not that he ever would.

“Good boy,” Sam muttered against Dean's ear, and he shivered again, Cas felt it, stowed it away for later. But then who wouldn't shake with Sam purring that in their ear? “So we're gonna go in the bathroom, Dean, three of us. And you're gonna get on your knees.”

“Holy fuck,” Dean panted, nearly gasped.

Cas got closer, leaned into Dean's other ear. “Like that, Dean? Want to suck us off in the bathroom?”

“Yeah? Yes, god, we can just go right now? You're not gonna make me wait, are you? C'mon.”

“Jesus,” Cas laughed, and Sam did too, while Dean blushed pretty-pink. “Whore.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean agreed, grumbling, tucking his dick away and shoving at his solid brother, still blocking the way, “Y'got me all jacked up here, what d'you expect me to do?”

_Fair enough._

They wove through the crowd quick, a train of hand-holding so they didn't lose each other. _Almost_ sweet.

The men's room looked empty and Dean stalked all the way in first, backed himself up against the furthest wall, bare except for a radiator and some old newspapers, peeling off the dark wood. He looked so natural like that, face flushed and expectant, eyes wide and dark, looking between the two of them.

Sam tried to lock the door; didn't work and he stared at it for a minute, poking his tongue around his mouth, figuring out what to do.

“Doesn't lock,” Dean said, plainly, arching one eyebrow. “I mean, it never did.”

Cas tilted his head, first to advance. So, so amused. This was _so_ _Dean_. “So you suck a lot of dick in this bathroom?”

“Not a lot,” Dean shrugged one shoulder, smirked, “Couple times.”

Sam stalked up level with Cas and they moved the rest of the way together. “You _are_ a whore, Cas was right.”

“You love it,” Dean teased him, teased them both with his long slow blinks and lingering looks, with his rose-petal tongue darting endlessly around his lips, seeking a target. “So who's first?”

“ _Knees_ first,” Sam said, smooth and confident, not a question or a suggestion, more a demand. It hummed hard through Cas, made him want to comply too but Dean did it first with a grunt, sinking fast to his knees on the bathroom floor.

Sam huffed out a surprised noise, his eyes lighting up wide. Dean tilted his head up, looked at each of them in turns and Cas felt a lovely, fiery possessiveness he hadn't before, literally ever. He crowded closer to Dean, slid his fingers along his jaw and thumbed his mouth open.

“You've definitely done this before, Dean,” Cas muttered, loving the way Dean stared up at him, the universe alight in his beautiful eyes. “And in this very bathroom, hmm? That's pretty dirty. It'll be better with the two of us, don't you agree?”

“It'd be better if either one of you got your fucking dick out, come _on_ ,” Dean grumbled, impatiently staring at each of them. Probably a second away from pawing at their thighs, really, and Cas would welcome it anyway, a jump start against all the teasing Sam loved so much.

Sam went first, zipper dropping fast and loud, fist filled up right away with his mostly-hard dick. His other hand reached for Dean's hair, threaded into it and tugged him closer until his dick bumped against Dean's lips, blunt and wet. “Happy now?” Sam asked him, swiping his head on Dean, over and over, holding Dean far enough away that he couldn't do what he _really_ wanted.

“No,” Dean muttered, miserably, sticking his tongue out, but Sam anticipated, pulling Dean's hair hard to keep him away.

“Cute,” Cas said, and it _was_. Adorable how much Dean wanted it and how good Sam played at keeping it away. Made Cas pull his own dick out and slide it up against Dean's cheek, tapping it against the corner of his mouth. “How 'bout now?”

“Assholes,” Dean said, still trying to chase them both down with his tongue, trying to break free of Sam's tight hold on his hair and Cas's on his cheek. Didn't work.

“Just be good, Dean,” Sam said, barely a mutter.

“And be nice,” Cas added.

“What, d'you want me to beg for it?”

Sam looked at Cas all dark and gorgeous and Cas felt it all the way down to his toes. Cas barely smiled back, turned to Dean with heat in his gut, with his fingers clenching harder on his jaw. “Yes, Dean, you should probably beg for it. Or at least _ask_.”

“Nice, like he said.”

Dean grumbled something else unheard, little more than a whine, really. His eyes were still on the dicks in front of him, flickering back and forth. Practically drooling. “Can someone _please_ put their dick in my mouth? Please let me suck it?”

_Nice indeed._

“Pretty,” Cas mumbled, tilting his head to Sam again as a chorus of noise swelled outside, briefly reminding him just how public they were. Well, good. This felt fucking great, no wonder Dean enjoyed borderline-dangerous sex like this so much. “Who's dick?”

“Yeah, Dean. Who's first? Whore's choice.”

“God, both of you?” Dean half-laughed but Cas saw his face go serious as soon as he said it, brow creasing in thought.

Huh.

_Maybe_.

“You wanna try?” Dean asked a serious second later.

And holy shit, _yes_.

Sam pulled Cas close as possible, got one big paw around both their dicks and Cas saw stars at that, all hard, so sensitive and hot. “What d'you think, Cas?”

“I think it's worth a shot.”

It wouldn't work and it didn't matter, it already felt amazing.

Sam let go of Dean's hair. His head jerked back a second and dove forward fast, tongue out, flickering against their jammed together dicks, diving under Cas's foreskin with professional enthusiasm. Cas watched with wide eyes, watched Dean pull off him and move to Sam, sucking his thick head into his mouth and he _felt_ Sam's cock lurch.

“Look pretty full already,” Sam said, stroking long fingers over Dean's hair, no tugging, not anymore. “And Cas is kinda thick, y'know? Or maybe you _don't_ know, don't think he's fucked you yet, has he? Unless you two're messing around on the sly.”

Dean groaned but shook his head, no to all those things but _god_ , now Cas wanted in there, wanted to make Dean bounce on his dick and they had so much time to do it, all the time in the world now that they were together.

“Soon,” Cas promised him, promised them both. “Maybe we can shove it in your ass like this sometime, Dean, hmm? Some dirty bar bathroom or a party. One of those sex parties where people bring their pets to display and show off, you know?”

They _both_ shot him the same weird look and okay, so they didn't know, so Cas had even more fun to let them in on.

“He'd be good for that,” Sam said, made Dean groan again. “He's good for a lot.”

“But not getting two dicks in his mouth.”

“Not yet, I'm trying,” Dean stopped stretching his mouth long enough to say. He could almost do it, he could nearly get his thick lips around both their heads but he drooled wildly down his chin and the outsides of his lips went white-taut.

“Still feels great,” Sam groaned, hooking his thumb in the corner of Dean's mouth, trying and failing to help. There was nowhere left to stretch.

“Beautiful, Dean,” Cas sighed, his fingers slightly less demanding, just fluttering over Dean's lips, his spit-wet chin, over the place where his dick crammed into Sam's. “You're doing so good, so close. Don't hurt yourself, we need this mouth.”

Another crowd-swell from outside and it spiked louder because, _shit_ , the door swung open and someone stalked in, weaving slightly. Cas watched him blink at the trio, arch an eyebrow and stare a little harder. An _audience_.

“No trouble,” the man said, raised both hands. But he couldn't keep his eyes off Dean for quite a while; Cas couldn't blame him. “Hey, uh, invitation only, or...?”

The question hung; Sam gave Cas a look, a half shrug that said _the more the merrier_ and when he looked down at Dean, he got the same with a bright-eyed head nod, both his hands wrapping around their dicks, jerking them off slow while he peered around Sam at the stranger.

“C'mon,” Sam motioned him over, didn't bother with introductions or anything and neither did the guy.

“You just pick him up or what?” The guy asked, crowding beside Sam, already grabbing at himself through his pants.

“No, he's ours,” Cas answered, loved the way that sounded. _Ours_. Dean was, hard-won but _theirs_ as much as he could be. And theirs that they could _share_. Something about that felt so, so right.

“He's fuckin' hot,” the guy said, sparing a glance at the proceedings and forcing out a dry chuckle. “Jesus, you two though. Kinda intimidating with the monster dicks, here. 's like I stumbled into some kinda porno shoot. You got some hidden camera setup or what?”

“Maybe later,” Sam said, shifting closer to Cas to give this new guy more room. “He doesn't care anyway. He just loves stuff in his mouth. I don't think he's really that picky.”

Dean had zero argument; Cas almost never heard him so quiet, maybe not since that first time Sam fucked him. He sat back on his heels, flexed his mouth like he was really getting ready, and grabbed at the dicks on his peripheral, Cas and the stranger's, now out and mostly hard, easily getting the rest of the way under Dean's tight grasp. He sunk mouth-first onto Sam's, eyes fluttering shut while he swallowed and swallowed. Cas knew how that felt, knew it like second nature now, how long it took to get Sam in there, how perfectly uncomfortable.

“Jesus, lookit him,” the guy said, mystified, his watery-blue eyes focused sharply on Dean's throat bobbing endlessly. Nowhere else to look anyway. They all zeroed in. Sam grabbed Dean's hair again, shoved in sharp and short, possibly just to hear Dean gag. Because he smiled at the noise, stroked his thumb over Dean's temple and eased out just enough for Dean to chase him back down.

A lot went on; Dean switched at odd intervals, sucked them all down and mostly managed to jerk off who wasn't in his mouth, rarely losing focus. Like, yeah, he was maybe built for this. Probably had more practice than he cared to mention and that was just fine. It culminated beautifully.

The stranger finished first, finished with Dean jerking him off while Cas shoved into his mouth. He shot with a clipped grunt onto the side of Dean's face with barely any warning. Dean turned his head at the last second, tongue still sliding around Cas's dick so smooth and hot, and he took the rest of the load across his cheeks, dripping off his chin, half-smearing Cas with it.

“Good _god_ ,” the guy grunted, stroking at Dean's face with a reverence they shared, wiping the last drops off on Dean's mouth. “You keep him, he's a fucking prize,” he said, shoving his dick into his pants quick and taking a second to breathe, to watch Dean sink back onto Cas. He barely lingered, just left Dean with his load on his face and two dicks to go.

The bathroom swelled with noise again, the door opening, closing, leaving them alone again.

Probably more people came in; the rest ignored them or maybe the other way around. Things got messy, timeless with Cas watching this.

And not just watching but feeling, and not just feeling Dean on his cock either; all these other things exploded up and out of him, surprising and wonderful. That new possessiveness, still there, and the abject joy of seeing the two of them together, Sam and Dean like they should be, clearly, by all rights everywhere in the universe. Meant to be with filthy streaks that matched so well together, slotted in perfectly similar.

Cas felt like he fit too, for once, not just dancing on the outside edges of a great, world-ending love but in it up to his neck and drowning fast.

“You first, Cas,” he barely heard Sam urge him on, nudging at the side of his head with his nose, one hand joining Dean's and then sliding down to his balls, gripping hard enough that Cas grunted. “Wanna see you mess up his face.”

He hadn't denied Sam anything thus far, and he wasn't about to start. Always something about the way he could command them had Cas rushing fast towards release, and Dean so pretty for him, all blinking eyes and wide open mouth, his lips red with use, jizz still dripping? Yeah, all of that just made it so much easier. Cas slapped against Dean's mouth a few times and let go, shot onto his tongue and his mouth, fountained up to stick to his eyelashes, gluing his left eye shut and fuck it all, that was the most lovely thing.

“Yeah, yeah, like that,” Sam panted beside him, beyond ready and a second later, he painted up Dean's face too, copious and ropey and _loud_ while Dean babbled nonsense, begging through his sticky mouth for the load that already spurted onto his face.

Oh, jesus, he was _the_ most beautiful like that.

Cas already had his phone out before his dick was away, unthinking, just desperate to capture this for all time, for them to look at later and Dean fucking preened for it, looking up wide-eyed with Sam's dick still sliding across the mess in his cheek.

All told, Cas got ten pictures before Dean broke out laughing, falling back against the wall behind him.

“Okay, get me somethin' to clean off with before I get fuckin' pink-eye here, please?” he squinted and they provided, scratchy-rough toilet paper, paper towels that they used reverently, followed up with their mouths

They absconded quick, since like, half the bar probably knew what was going on by now, at least if anyone were sober enough to notice. Cas felt refreshed, even for the shots they'd had earlier, felt fresh and new while they traveled to the parking lot in that chain of hand-holding again, typical formation now.

Once there, Sam shoved Dean against the side of the car, kissed him hard enough that Cas felt a spike of envy, quick and precise, only serving to heat up his gut again.

“You should fuck me,” Sam panted against Dean's mouth, “You should fuck me in the car.”

Ambitious, yeah, but Dean tented out his pants again, Cas saw when he crowded the two of them.

“You should,” Cas agreed, purred it into Dean's ear, the two of them hell-bent on overwhelming him again, all night, “And I can make some movies. Then we can switch, so you can watch. You'll love watching Sam get fucked, I know it.”

“You're gonna fuckin' kill me,” Dean groaned, “This is like, pre-meditated murder.”

“What a way to go, huh?” Sam laughed against Dean's mouth, kissed him visibly tongue first, poking pink and shiny out under the streetlights.

He didn't protest too much otherwise.

Ten, fifteen minutes after that, they were in the car.

 

* * *

 

The video the next day looked pretty good, Cas had to admit. For the amateur cinematography to the fact that he'd been on his knees hanging over the front seat and jerking off? It didn't look too bad.

Not that it could look bad.

And if it did, the current scenery was enough to distract them from it; Cas had a stellar view of Dean's back, of the meaty stretch of his neck and the baby-soft hairs behind his ear. Also the glorious, stupid face he made when he was full of cock. Cas had that one first-hand, finally. He felt _great_.

But the video, that showcased Dean's back too, from a medium angle above on the huge TV where Sam had hooked up the phone. _Huge_. Cas never watched porn on a screen so big. The video started with Dean draped over Sam, both with one foot on the floor; they _so_ didn't fit in the car and it would have looked if hilarious if, well, it didn't look so _incredible_.

Video-Sam looked visibly taut, his head just barely out of frame because he'd stuck it out the window for lack of room. He writhed gorgeous under Dean, throwing his head back and begging for more. So flexible, bending back on Dean for his brother to kiss him.

“I know I was there last night, but this is beautiful,” Cas said and they basically grunted the same, fairly fixated on the screen.

Dean, the Dean in Cas's lap at least, had to slow down, grasping back at his thigh and his shoulder, puffing out a sharp breath. “Yeah, that is...yeah.”

“I'm pretty sure it gets better,” Sam said, taking a long look at them, arousal dark on his face.

It got loads better.

Video-Dean whispered something into Sam's ear, something Cas hadn't picked up; hell, he'd barely even noticed at the time, even though it went on for a while. There'd been a lot to see. But Sam flipped a second later, spread out onto his back and pulled Dean in with his arms and his legs and Dean fucked him slow and deep.

“What'd you say?” Cas asked, pretty much right in immediate-Dean's ear. When he didn't say anything, Cas grabbed at his dick, stroked him tightly up and down, bit into the beef of his shoulder and asked again. “Better tell me, Dean. Kinda at my mercy, here.”

He shuddered, grasped at Cas's hand and okay, Cas stopped for the moment, but squeezed, let him know the threat still loomed. “Okay, okay, c'mon. Be civil, I'm close to popping here. Told 'im he was like, the most beautiful thing in the entire world and that I couldn't wait to come in him.”

_God_ , lovely, emotion-adjacent for Dean. Pretty good.

“And I asked him how he wanted it to happen so when we watched it back, he got to see what he wanted. Also...told him I wanted to see you fucking him real bad. Which is coming up, if you remember.”

Cas remembered. Remembered the almost easy slide in, all slicked with Dean's come already.

And just there, on the video, Dean spilled that particular load. He wasn't even loud, he didn't have to be, that wasn't even the important part. It was how he looked, how he touched Sam. Dean's hand melted onto Sam's face, trailed down his neck, his thumb dipping into Sam's collarbone.

So awed, tender, fucking _in love_ , whether he said it or not.

He kind of didn't have to, not after that _._

“Wow, so,” Cas rested his chin on Dean's shoulder, nosed at his ear, “wow.”

“Shut up.” Dean grumbled.

“Seriously,” Sam agreed.

“No, come on, that's stunning. The two of you are incredible.”

A second later on the video, Sam came under Dean's speed-blurred hand. He _was_ loud about it, irresponsibly loud given that the window was wide open. Miraculously, they hadn't been busted. Cas got to film the fall-out; a lot of kissing, some lovely, slow-lazy thrusting until Sam stopped Dean, playfully shoving him off.

Then, holy shit, then video-Sam stared right at the camera. Well, at Cas _behind_ the camera, his face red, wide-eyed, sighing into a content grin. “Your turn,” he said, spreading out long and wide and huge, rippling muscles, stretching like a cat in the sun.

“Fuck, Sam,” Dean groaned and Cas felt him tighten around his dick a little, his hips rocking forward again, “You're like some big supermodel porn star, huh? Look at that.”

The video cut grainy-black just in time for Sam to mutter something quiet, embarrassed, and hide his head between the two of them. But Cas felt his grin against his chest, until it turned into kissing, at least. The next part, with Dean behind the phone-camera was decidedly less easy to follow. Clearly, he'd been having a good time and the fucking was close, real close up, because they'd shoved the front seat up all the way for Dean to cram right beside them.

Cas kind of longed for an angle that didn't incorporate so much of his ass but it was too late to play director.

Video-Dean was a lot more vocal than video-Cas had been too, his voice coming through all gravel and hotness. “Feels good, huh, Sammy?” he murmured, his free hand roaming places, going everywhere, “Looks like it does. Gonna get on that tomorrow.” And the camera went all shakey, Dean's fingers squirming between them to stoke right where Cas fucked into Sam; couldn't see it very well, but Cas remembered; invasive and prodding and so fucking good.

“You did get on that,” Sam chuckled between them, the real one, not the fucked-out bitch-moaning video version. He took the same route as video-Dean though, edging closer and slipping his fingers around Dean's ass, feeling where Cas entered him. “Feels good, huh?”

God, the call-backs, the teasing torture, basically just brotherly shenanigans with this whole new bent, different stakes now.

“You know it does,” Dean shot back, looping an arm around Cas's neck, working himself faster for all the talking, even tough his eyes were fixed on the TV. “You know how fuckin' good he feels, look at you.”

“Can't,” Sam mumbled, stuck his head in Dean's neck this time, kneeling beside the two of them. “It's prettier here, with you bouncing on his dick. Also, your camera work's kinda rough, dude.”

“Was kinda preoccupied.”

Quick-cut in the video and Dean in Sam's face rubbing his spent dick on him. Casually. And Sam preened into it, his mouth slacked open; flesh-and-bone Dean moaned loud.

“You're so fucking hot, Sam, goddammit, fucking messes me up.”

Sam moaned back, Cas felt it where they all crammed together, and he watched Sam's big body slip onto the floor; he hadn't been watching so avidly anyway, so maybe this was more comfortable. It certainly looked good, Sam tucking between their tangled-together legs, swallowing Dean's bobbing dick down whole without any kind of warning.

Cas leaned forward flush against Dean's back, still letting Dean work himself over his dick, his eyes only for the screen right now, for the filthy shit they'd accomplished last night.

He still had no idea how Dean, camera-Dean, got such a good angle of him blowing inside Sam. Well. Half-inside, since Cas fucked him through it. It spilled out onto the seat, dripped onto Sam's thighs and creamed back onto Cas's dick and apparently that sight just about undid the very real Dean.

He rocked back hard against Cas, slammed himself down and everything got so, so tight, like a vice of heat and power wringing him out, making Cas come at the same goddamned time like they were in crazy porno sync together.

They were, _they were_ , it was incredible.

Dean had his hand on Sam's face again, stroking his mouth, murmuring nothings that were actually probably everything while Sam swallowed his load down.

Some fucking chain reaction.

The video stopped abruptly, mid-laugh, mid-zoom in on Sam's face but that was just _fine_.

“Okay, we gotta do that again,” Dean laugh-sighed, stuck between them, matted with sweat, his heart still pounding against Cas's chest.

Sam popped off his brother's dick, wiped off and leaned his head on Dean's meaty thigh. “Which part?”

“All of it? Jesus, I could watch that forever.”

“We can make more. We can get a tripod,” Cas suggested thoughtfully, winding his arms around Dean's chest, leaning heavy on his shoulder. Watching Sam. He loved watching Sam watch Dean.

“Oh yeah, so we can get one of all of us, right?” Dean grinned lazy back at Cas, “Dirty old man.”

“Dude, you're basically the same age,” Sam laughed, sighed, draped his arms across Dean's legs.

“Yeah, but he's clearly dirtier.”

“No one's dirtier than you, Dean,” Sam argued back lazy, content, glowing-smiling-happy and goddamn, what a _sight_.

The sounds too were lovely; sweet brotherly bickering, calm smooth laughter, just pure fucking blissed out happiness floating on this immense wave that Cas couldn't help but get carried away on. Just like before, just like how he'd been sucked in at the beginning except _now_? Now it was all mostly okay.

 

* * *

 

 

_Winter_. Like honest-to-god winter. Cas's glassed in room needed a change before he went back to work, that was for sure. The reds, deep rich tones, those didn't work with the snow blanketing things outside. Okay, not _blanketing_ , not like back in Michigan, but things were pretty, sparkly white. He needed a change.

He'd carried the couch out of the basement before with the help of some burly movers he found on craigslist for twenty bucks but this winter, he had Winchesters. The matching set. Dean hauled the head of the couch, Sam took the rear. That left Cas in the middle and yeah, that was their typical way, lately. It worked pretty well.

Dean barked instructions while Sam steered, while Cas ping-ponged looking between both of them. The usual.

“Not gonna fit,” Dean grimaced at the top of the basement stairs, looking down the hallway.

“It has before,” Cas assured him, “Like, five times.”

“You've done this five years in a row.”

“Yes, I have. Move it.”

It did fit; Dean grumbled something. Sam shook his head when Cas looked, an endearing smile under the sweat beading his upper lip. There'd been a bunch more things they moved up, too, and they were all a little tired for it. But the couch fit, plunked down perfectly right in the center of everything, a deep dark blue like the winter sky at dusk. And he had an evergreen throw to go over it. Pillows that matched.

He snuck in bright yellows this year from the summer collection of stuff, on a whim. It worked. There was a planter he could put the fern in, a trio of gathered silk pillows, a tapestry for the wall. Other assorted crap. He liked it. Flopped on the couch, again and always between Sam and Dean, the room felt very much perfect.

“So you're going back to work, how do you _feel_ about that?” Dean elbowed him in the side, slung an arm around his shoulders and rubbed a knuckle into the beard Cas had grown, three and a half weeks without shaving so it was getting serious. “Gonna shear this thing off? Makes you look like a movie shrink.”

“I like it.”

“You're a cardigan away from a made-for-tv movie.”

“ _I_ like it too,” Sam said, that needling tone he used specifically for arguing with Dean. “And you'd look great in a cardigan. Or anything, pretty much.”

“Anyway,” Cas drawled, flipped the subject back to Dean's question, even though it hadn't been terribly serious. “I'm definitely ready to go back to work. I think a month of rampant debauchery is enough.”

“It wasn't rampant,” Sam said. Thought better of it a moment later. “Okay, it was frequent, at least.”

“We still got dibs on the nights though,” Dean reminded him, and squeezed his shoulders, knocking him closer. “Christ, I'm glad I'm done spilling my guts in this room. Kinda gives me flashbacks.”

“Bad ones? Cause...I sucked his dick in here.”

Cas got actual chills when they talked about him like that, like he wasn't there, like they could just swap him back and forth with no recourse, no remorse. It was too hot.

“Only once,” Cas reminded Sam, but he remembered it pretty well. Sam all sad eyes, hungover, apologetic, sweet. And an amazing cocksucker. “And never again. This is supposed to be a neutral place.”

“Well now I'm kinda jealous,” Dean said, mock-frowning.

Cas did not need either of them to go for it right now, although sometimes it was admittedly hard to stop them. Most of the time, he didn't bother. Okay. Never. Why stop them after all the build up? They deserved it, whatever they wanted and Cas felt overjoyed that included _him_. Overjoyed didn't cover it.

He loved them, he really truly did, even after the shit they'd been through, the sleepless nights and the potential lawsuits. The drunk-dialling and the half-truths. Dean's absurd deceptions and Sam's keen-eyed openness.

Nope, there wasn't a thing Cas would do different.

He craned his head up, watched the snow falling on the roof, melting, falling again, just light little flakes glowing amber in the dusk sky.

Tomorrow, tomorrow he'd be here sober as a judge with a brand new client, but tonight, he was going home with Sam and Dean.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, I gotta thank some people that this would not have happened without. 
> 
> Xander of fucking course, who begged for more after I kept this secret for quite a while, thinking it horrible and stupid and a waste of a nanowrimo november. This whole thing took so goddamned long that we got fucking /married/ before it got posted to completion, how 'bout that. Anyway, you're like, my biggest fan for some reason and I really need that a lot, so thanks bro. 
> 
> This fic literally wouldn't exist without hellhoundsprey, so thanks also. Honestly, I wasn't into angst until I started reading your fic but your writing burrowed into my actual soul and left a lot of marks. This whole thing is informed completely by so much of your writing that I can't even begin to figure out how to actually thank you so hopefully my usual absurd speechlessness works. Also your comments were like the most beautiful little presents every time, I can't overstate how much I looked forward to them. 
> 
> Plus Christy: I want to frame all of your comments and dip them in gold and then dip YOU in gold, just thank you so much for everything.
> 
> Okay and also thanks to everyone else in the world for being so patient about updates as this was the rockiest, busiest, weirdest, worst and best year of my being. Thank you for spending some time on me and with these disgusting boys.


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